Ordinary Miracles
by Nenena
Summary: It's tough being an apprentice angel, especially when your teacher doesn't understand you, a demon keeps showing up to harass you, and you're not naturally talented with thirteendimensional calculus.  Repost of a fanfic originally written in 2003.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended upsomehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!

* * *

Ordinary Miracles

by Nenena

* * *

Prologue

Matthis, Raimund E. and Taylor, Desmond. 1971. Adopting the Library of Congress Classification System: A Manual of Methods and Techniques for Application or Conversion. R.R. Bowker, New York. Z695.98.M33

* * *

"You could, if you wanted," the seraph Nathanael said primly, folding his divine hands in his divine lap, "make a very lucrative career out of appearing in bowls of porridge, cups of tea, French pastries, and tortillas."

"Er--" Theo shook his head. "Um, isn't it supposed to be Jesus that does that?"

"Christ is a very busy man," Nathanael answered stiffly. "He sometimes needs helpers to appear in his place, but... I'm not sure that such would be an appropriate assignment for you..." His eyes glazed for a moment; he was ruffling papers in his head. "Ah, here we go! We don't have nearly enough angels in the Guardian department. In fact, we have a few openings that we desperately need to fill. Would you be interested in being someone's guardian angel?"

Theo shuffled his feet nervously. "What sort of openings, um, are you talking about?"

"Well, we have a NASCAR driver over in the States who very much needs a guardian angel. Also on the waiting list, we have an investigative reporter doing very good and just work in Libya, a Hollywood stunt man, and a marine biologist studying sharks around--"

"I'll pass," Theo said quickly.

Nathanael stiffened even further. He did not appreciate being interrupted. "I'm afraid that we're running out of options for you, then. You know, little boy," he said, instantly slipping into monotone lecture mode, "Being an angel is a higher calling. You will sometimes - often - have to put up with jobs that are challenging, frustrating, discouraging, or even at times, boring. But such hardships are your lot to endure, in exchange for doing the greatest work of all and being invited--"

"--to spend an eternity in God's loving, holy presence," Theo whispered under his breath as Nathanael droned along. Yeah, some loving, holy waste of time this was all turning out to be. And it wasn't fair, Theo was still convinced, deep down inside his gut, it just wasn't fair. He'd been in Heaven for quite a while now and still hadn't seen God and hadn't felt even an instant of that supposed loving, holy presence. He hadn't seen his family at all, either, not in all that time.

All four of them - his mother, his father, his little sister, and him - had been in the car the day that it had plunged into the river. Theo hadn't understood exactly what was happening to him until he was standing in front of a pair of pearly gates and being made an offer he couldn't refuse. You could choose to spend an eternity in paradise with all the other dead souls, that angel had told him, or you could earn a pair of wings of your own. God says that you're special. God says that you've been chosen. God only offers this option to one in a million human souls.

Theo had been stunned. He hadn't even believed in God. He had been thirteen years old, and a Buddhist. Not that he'd ever bothered to really study or to learn much about Buddhism, but he had been certain, at the time, that Buddha was a much safer and more benevolent thing to believe in than God.

Well, things had changed a bit since then.

Theo knew that God existed now - at least, he had seen reasonably strong evidence to persuade him so, even though he had yet to meet the guy.

What Theo hadn't expected, however, was that other angels would turn out to be such pricks.

Nathanael was still droning on. "--Often treated with ingratitude, met with suspicion and fear. And humans will hardly even believe in you anymore, you understand. And sometimes this thankless job is even dangerous, and you're out there risking your halo every day, and do humans ever appreciate it? Noooo, they--"

"Dangerous?" Theo's ears perked up. "Like when?"

"Oh, our field agents have to deal with thwarting evil and smiting demons all the time. But you--"

"Why can't I do some field work?"

Nathanael blinked, divine lashes fluttering down and lightly touching divine cheeks. His divine eyebrows arched up in surprise. "Well, we only rarely allow apprentices as young as yourself to go back down to Earth. It hasn't been all that very long since you left, has it? And furthermore, field work is very complicated, very dangerous work. We only post a few angels at a time down there, and most of them don't last very long before they're ready to retire and take a different job, either. Most, that is, except..." Nathanael actually trailed off, his gaze turning inward again, pondering some memory. "Except... Hmmm..."

"But that's the job that really counts, right? Being down there with humans, right?" For the first time since the whole death thing, Theo found himself excited about being able to finally do something meaningful with his afterlife. "And, and danger, just like you said! If there are demons on Earth, then they have to be thwarted and smited and all that, right?"

"Yes, but--"

"And I bet you always need more workers down there than you have available. Right?"

Nathanael sat, cold and silent. He had been interrupted three times during this exchange. That was a new record. "An angel does not," he said icily, "seek out a particular job because it seems exciting. Field work is neither exciting nor glamorous, I can assure you. In fact, most of our angels hate doing it. Living among human beings takes its toll upon an angel's soul." And then again, that funny inward look, as if he were remembering something long forgotten. Something, or someone. "That having been said, though..." All of a sudden, there were papers in his divine lap, and he was shuffling through them, looking for something. "We do have one field worker that's been down there consistently from the beginning. A thick-skinned chap, really, and a bit thick-headed, but those traits can be advantageous for a field worker. And if my memory serves me," Nathanael said darkly, "this particular one has been shirking his duty to take on apprentices for the past six thousand years."

Theo's heart fluttered in his chest. "Then I suppose it's about time he did his duty, right? Am I right?"

A funny, strange little smile was starting to creep across Nathanael's divine lips. It was the type of smile that anyone accustomed to angelic expressions would have found slightly odd, and slightly disquieting. However, Theo was still too green to notice.

"Of course," Nathanael breathed, thinking aloud, "You are right, little boy. It is about time, isn't it? And... You'll really love London, I think. There's even a demon in that city."

* * *

Continued. 


	2. Chapter 01

Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended upsomehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!

* * *

Ordinary Miracles

by Nenena

* * *

Chapter 01

Celty, Ellen V. and Ray, Anna. 1922. Feeding and Care of the Domestic and Long-Haired Cat. F.B. Harrison Printing Co, Cleveland. SF447.C4

* * *

It was December. That meant choir practice.

Aziraphale was not technically capable of hating anyone or anything, per se - but he was capable of very, strongly, intensely disliking. Right now he was very, strongly, intensely disliking the idea of fluttering about like a ninny and singing praises about the coming of Jesus. Especially when the weather was so bad. Especially when a certain angelic choir director had gotten the brilliant idea of—

The angel next to Aziraphale sneezed. Then she looked horrified. "Oh no--"

"God bless you," Aziraphale said automatically.

"Thanks," the angel sniffled as she poked her soul back up her nose with one long, slender finger.

There was blowing wind and freezing rain and occasionally, big, crunchy hailstones pelting the heavenly chorus. Normally, pre-Christmas choir practices were held inside clouds because a certain angelic choir director thought that clouds were the only thing that could prevent human ears from hearing an "unfinished product" being rehearsed. However, a certain angelic choir director also couldn't tell the difference between harmless, fluffy white clouds and the churning black thunderheads that constituted a winter storm system.

"Once more, from the top," a certain angelic choir director said as he waved his glowing director's baton around. He was still immaculately groomed and beautiful, and dry as a bone, even in the midst of a sudden gust of freezing rain blown his way.

They sang, a few of them occasionally gurgling if they were unlucky enough to get a mouthful of the slushy pre-snow being blown throughout the clouds. Aziraphale sang as long as he could, then stopped, snapping his mouth shut in order to hide the fact that his teeth were chattering. He clenched and unclenched his blue hands, reading music in his head, trying to get into the spirit of it all, really trying, trying to think about the glory of God and the love of Jesus Christ, trying very hard to get back into the whole musical Christmas spirit, trying extremely hard not to think un-angelic thoughts about where he would like to shove a certain angelic choir director's glowing director's baton.

"Stop!" the director exclaimed.

The angels stopped singing.

He swept his unearthly gaze across the shivering ranks. "Goodness, what's wrong with you all today? Liriel, you're soaked to the bone! Michael, your nose is all red! Can't you all--?"

Against his better judgment, Aziraphale raised his hand.

The director took one look at him, and sighed. "What now?"

"I think that we should go somewhere else to practice," Aziraphale said quite calmly. For the fifth time that evening.

The angelic choir director's face remained calm, blank, and beautiful. But behind his glazed blue eyes, something very close to rage was seething. Sleet blew across his body, and not a single drop dared touch even a single hair on his head. The other angels were hardly as lucky. "Here is fine, Aziraphale," he said. "We'll be singing our Christmas Eve concert around this area this year anyway, and--"

"Yes, well, about that, sir." Aziraphale struggled to prevent his teeth from noticeably chattering. "Er, I'm very flattered that you finally decided to perform over London this year. But really, sir, I think that it would be a better idea not to sing in the space immediately above Heathrow. The uh, the airport."

"Here is fine, Aziraphale," the director repeated again. It's fine because I chose this spot and it will forever be fine because I chose this spot, his eyes said. And I do not appreciate an angel such as yourself questioning my authority in front of all these others, his eyes also said. And I will report your cheekiness to the proper authorities, mark my words, his eyes also said.

Somewhere in the choir, another angel sneezed. The wind and the wind-born sleet lashed at the heavenly chorus. At least the hailstones were taking a moment of reprieve.

"With all due respect, sir," Aziraphale continued, "I think it should be obvious by now that, angels or not, not all of us can continue to sing in this weather."

"Whine, whine, whine!" the director mocked, waving about his glowing baton. "You pathetic lot of soft, whiney good-for-nothings! Surely a little bit of nippy weather isn't enough to do you in, is it? Have you all forgotten what you are? It's your duty to sing glory and praises to our beloved Father, and neither rain nor sleet nor snow should prevent you from doing so. Why, when I was in the chorus, I remember, one Christmas Eve I had to sing for fifty hours straight in the middle of blizzard over the Himalayan mountains, and I had to fly uphill both way to get to choir practice in the first place, and--"

Suddenly he cut himself off, and cocked his head to one side, one hand dramatically cupped to his ear. "Heavens! What is that strange new noise?"

The choir was silent, but the wind and the storm were still loud. Aziraphale listened. There was a low rumble building up, somewhere beneath the black and gray blanket of the clouds.

"I think that's a Boeing 767," Aziraphale said.

The choir director gave him a perfectly angelic, and perfectly impatient, look. "What is that, some sort of demon treachery?"

"No, sir, it's a flying machine."

The director scoffed. "Humans don't have flying machines!"

Aziraphale sighed. Some angels were just so out of touch with the present. "Well," he said loudly, "I'm leaving."

"You're what?!" The director's eyes glimmered with shock. "You're WHAT?!"

The rumbling was growing louder.

"I'm leaving," Aziraphale repeated calmly. He gingerly stepped around the gaping, horrified angels surrounding him, and out of the ranks of the chorus. He fluttered his wings. "I'd suggest that you do the same, too."

"If-- If-- If you skip out on choir practice," the director stammered with rage and shock, "then you won't be allowed to sing with us on--"

"--Christmas Eve, I know. Terribly sad, but," Aziraphale shrugged, "if I stay here a moment longer, I shall catch my death from pneumonia. Or something worse," he added, glancing meaningfully down below as a thunderous roar grew louder all around them. Then with one sweep of his wings, he was off. "Cheerio! Next year, then!"

"You--!" The director waved his glowing baton at Aziraphale's receding wings in a gesture of inarticulate fury. Then he whirled and stared in horror at his chorus - his retreating chorus. Angels were flying off in all directions, eagerly deserting the ranks of the choir.

"Wait!" the director wailed desperately. "Where are you all going? Where are you--?!"

The roar of the monster's engines became perfectly deafening at exactly the moment that the steel and aluminum behemoth broke through the black clouds, rivers of rain and ice streaming across its body and down its wings.

The choir director had just enough time to realize how much trouble he was going to be in when he would have to ask Heaven for another new body, before he was unceremoniously sucked into one of the 767's jet engines.

* * *

Crowley's plants had found Jesus.

Crowley would have been horrified to discover this, but Aziraphale was determined that he never would. He had been out of town for three months and, Aziraphale guessed, wouldn't be back anytime soon. Before he'd left, he'd asked Aziraphale to water his plants for him.

Aziraphale had fed the demon's houseplants mineral water and fertilizer. He had also begun immediately read the Bible aloud to them.

Humming to himself, Aziraphale pushed open the door to Crowley's apartment - he never actually needed a key, although the door was locked for anyone else - and hung up his coat on Crowley's coat hanger. He flipped on the lights, and blinked uncomfortably as the overhead fluorescents flooded the flat with a harsh, glaring brightness. He was used to dimmer, older, slightly crankier lighting systems, which, until the most recent hundred years, had meant candles. The plants practically trembled with joy to see him.

"I'm here, I'm here," Aziraphale muttered. He felt cold and wet and soaked to his bones, although he wasn't, not really. Dry as a bone, he was, now. Still, the feeling of escaping the center of an airborne slush blizzard did not leave one lightly.

He found Crowley's plant mister where had left it, filled it, and watered the plants. He cleaned the mister, replaced it carefully, and then sat down beside the plants, opening a copy of the Bible that suddenly appeared on his lap. Where were they today? Ah yes, Matthew, chapter two.

" 'Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king,' " the angel read, " 'behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? for we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him.' "

The plants rustled quietly. Aziraphale paused. "You like this story, don't you?" he asked them.

The plants said nothing, but Aziraphale knew that it was their favorite.

"It's a good enough story, I suppose," Aziraphale sighed. His personal favorite had always been Luke, the version where the angel appears before the shepherd boys on the hillside. But then again, the silly apostle hadn't even gotten the angel's name right in the first written draft of the book, and in subsequent revisions and translations, it had been lost altogether.

* * *

Aziraphale figured that one of these days, soon, he would just pick up Crowley's plants and take them home with him. Hopefully before the demon returned to London, that was. He was just tired of seeing them suffering; they deserved something better. Now that they were good plants and had been Saved, that was.

Crowley was gone because he was in trouble. Aziraphale had received a postcard from him from Columbia two weeks ago, and had not heard a word since. Aziraphale wasn't worried, however. This had happened before, at least twice that he could remember. There was that thing with Constantine in the 4th century. Crowley had gotten into a lot of trouble for letting that slip by, Aziraphale often remembered smugly. And then there had been that saint in the 6th century, someone completely forgotten by the annals of history now, but yet a single soul that Hell had thought was important... And Aziraphale had yanked him right out from beneath Crowley's nose. Saved and everything. Crowley had been furious at the angel, but not as furious as Crowley's bosses were at him. It had taken several more centuries worth of futile warring between them both before they had mutually decided that they could each do their respective jobs better if they started trying to stay out of each other's way. It was around that time that the Arrangement had first been born.

And, as far as Crowley's current punishment was concerned, these things followed a familiar pattern. Crowley would tell the angel that he had apparently angered the Powers that Be Below, and that he intended to run as far and as fast as his scaly legs could carry him before they caught up with him and gave him an earful. So long, sayounara, thanks for the lunch. It wasn't against the rules for demons to run from disciplinary punishment, per se. Anybody would be expected to run under those circumstances. And Crowley was a good runner, and a good hider, but still, the Earth was only covered in a finite number of hiding places. They would catch up with him eventually; then Crowley would disappear for a while, apparently while he was getting an earful from, well, his bosses. (Aziraphale didn't like to dwell too deeply upon what "getting an earful" actually entailed in Hell.) Then after a little while, maybe a couple decades or so, Crowley would be back, and in a bad mood.

Aziraphale didn't think that they would keep him that long this time, though. Everyone on both sides of the Great Cosmic Battle was getting a little bit jittery, what with Armageddon averted and the future suddenly so uncertain, and, well, so unwritten. Nobody knew what was going to happen next. That's why Heaven had been stationing more angels than usual on Earth, and Aziraphale had noticed that Hell couldn't exactly afford to spare the manpower they would lose if they took away Crowley, either.

Still, Crowley was probably in big trouble this time. Bigger trouble than any of the previous times, certainly. One did not just lose track of Lucifer Morningstar's only son and then expect a simple slap on the wrist for such negligence.

* * *

It was a week before Christmas.

Aziraphale was re-shelving his book collection when he heard the bell above his door ring. He was all prepared to glare at the potential customer, but then he turned around and saw who it was.

It was his neighbor. He was okay, because he generally wasn't interested in books without too many naughty pictures in them.

"Hey," Mr. Edwards said. "Slow day?"

"Naturally."

"I don't know how you stay in business with this place," Edwards commented in his oddly good-natured way.

"I don't," Aziraphale answered honestly. He wandered over to a closer bookshelf and continued his work, a stack of books in his arms. "Can I help you with something?"

Aziraphale liked Mr. Edwards, he really did, whether he was a porn peddler or not. It's not as though Aziraphale didn't judge what people did to make ends meet - it was his job to be judgmental - but he still wouldn't hold it against a good person like Mr. Edwards. He'd been a good neighbor for many years. They sometimes talked to each other. Aziraphale had once cat-sat Edwards' tabby for a week.

"Er... I hate to impose at this time of year," Edwards was saying nervously, "and I'm sure that you probably have travel plans and all, but listen, something suddenly came up, and I'm looking for someone who could, um, watch Margie for a few days. I mean, uh, she liked you so much last time, and it's terrible really, but she'll have to stay over with you again, she's not the type of cat that likes to be left alone--"

Aha, thought Aziraphale. He'd guessed it ahead of time. "For how long?"

"Two, maybe three days. I, um, I have to drive out of town..."

"What happened?"

"Er, a funeral."

"Oh dear. I'm sorry." And he really was. "Of course, I wouldn't mind taking in Margie again. She's a lovely little kitten."

"You wouldn't mind?"

Aziraphale turned his unsettlingly clear blue eyes upon the other man. "It would be nice to have some company over the holidays," he said quite pleasantly.

"Oh," said Edwards softly. Then he sighed. "Listen, um--"

The phone rang.

Aziraphale practically froze. There were only two places in the known universe where his telephone number was actually listed. One was in the personal leather-bound address book of a demon who was probably currently in Guatemala and was definitely too cheap to spring for long distance. The other place was, unfortunately, in Heaven.

"Excuse me a moment," Aziraphale said tersely as he set down his books and tried to step very casually over to the phone. He picked up the receiver. "Um, hello?"

"AZIRAPHALE! WHY DID YOU NOT INFORM US THAT THE HUMANS HAD DEVELOPED FLYING MACHINES?!"

The angel winced as he watched Edwards' eyes widening. Metatron did not just speak into a telephone. He shouted in a perfectly awe-inspiring, thunderous voice that could be heard clearly throughout the entire room (and probably all the way down the street).

Then, just for good measure, the coat rack beside the entrance burst into flame. Because seraphim liked dramatic effects like that.

The burning coat rack berated the angel, "WE ARE VERY, VERY DISPLEASED ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED TO BALTHIAL--"

"HOLY SHIT!" Mr. Edwards finally overcame his shock and had the presence of mind to scream.

Aziraphale sighed and dropped the phone from his hand, seeing as how a certain seraph obviously seemed no longer interested in using it as a channel of communication. He waved his hand in front of the human's face, and Edwards froze, standing rigidly with his eyes bugged out and jaw hanging open, staring at the burning coat rack with an expression of stupefied horror on his face.

"DID I JUST HEAR SOMEONE SAY THE S-WORD?!" the coat rack demanded.

"Yes. There. Is. A. Human. Here." Aziraphale took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. "And in my last three reports I mentioned the development of flying machines. I understand that are you are very busy with all sorts of important matters, Lord, and did you perhaps not have time to read them?"

"YOUR LAST THREE REPORTS? ...Oh, Very well then," said the burning coat rack, returning to a merely semi-awe-inspiring, more normal tone of voice. "We'll look those up right away."

"Thank you, Lord." Aziraphale had always suspected that nobody ever actually read his reports, but, well, the last thing that he needed was to have it rubbed in his face. That made him feel flustered, more than a trifle angry, very unappreciated, and a few other emotions that were dangerously, uncomfortably un-angelic.

"And one more thing," the coat rack added.

"Yes?"

"Our intelligence indicates that there has been a recent decrease in incidences of demonic activity in your area."

"Yes, well, that's because the demon seems to have migrated to--" Aziraphale hesitated for all of one tenth of a second. "--Africa," he lied.

"Excellent. Then surely you would agree that now would be an ideal time for you to take on an apprentice, correct?"

Now it was Aziraphale's turn to feel his jaw drop. He recovered from the shock and collected himself again. "Er... I've never actually, um, participated in the apprenticeship system before. I mean, er, there usually is a demon in this city, so don't you think that's a little bit, um, unsafe?"

"Well of course, we don't want the little ones having to smite any demons right off the bat. But they have to deal with demons eventually. Assuming that this one returns later, you can have your apprentice trained and ready for him when that happens. Right now, however, is a safe time. Correct?"

"I heard that there might be a demon moving in around Tromso," Aziraphale said desperately. "I was planning on--"

"Other angels," the coat rack continued pointedly, "have taken on apprentices before. Unfortunately, our records indicate that you somehow never have. Pity that we've skipped over you all these years, isn't it? Either way, we believe that it's only fair that you take your turn to do your duty."

"Well, I suppose that is fair," Aziraphale fretted. He fretted because it really was fair, and he knew that it really was fair, and that meant that he was now obligated to go through with the whole thing, because the last thing that he wanted was to be unfair. "Right, then. What shall I--?"

"We will have an agent send him to you tomorrow."

"Oh. All right."

"That is all."

And then, the coat rack wasn't burning anymore. It stood still and silent, utterly devoid of any divine presence, looking freshly polished, brand-new, and not at all like it had just been set on fire.

Aziraphale let out a long, slow sigh. Then he remembered poor Mr. Edwards, standing frozen where he had left him. Now Mr. Edwards just looked silly, staring at the perfectly harmless coat rack with that expression of utter horror twisting his face.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Aziraphale muttered, rushing over toward him. "I'm sorry, really, very awfully sorry about all this. And, just for the record, I really think it's reprehensible for people like me to be fiddling with human minds like this. It's not fair, you know. Really, it's just not fair. But, unfortunately, I can't let you remember any of what you saw or heard here," he finished sadly, waving his hand again in front of Edwards' face.

"--bring her over?" Mr. Edwards asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"What time shall I bring Margie over?"

"If you have to leave early tomorrow morning," Aziraphale said, trying as best he could to appear to be returning to business as normal, fiddling with a stack of some receipts next to the register, "right now would work best. I can take her in tonight."

"Right. Um, okay." Mr. Edwards was grateful for his neighbor's kindness. But oddly enough, he couldn't remember ever saying that he needed to leave early tomorrow morning.

* * *

Mr. Edwards left, running back to the flat above his shop next door, gathering up his cat and all of her needful things. Aziraphale sat behind the register on the only counter in the shop, sighed, and rubbed his temples. An apprentice?! Surely that meant a young angel, then. Or a young would-be angel. Which brought to mind the unsettling question: where did little angels come from? Aziraphale had largely avoided thinking about the issue before. He knew that officially, Heaven recruited the souls of dying humans to become angels, although only very rarely. But Aziraphale also harbored the suspicion that perhaps a cabbage patch or a stork was involved at other times, too.

Well, maybe he didn't want to know. He didn't want to start thinking too hard about where he himself had come from in the first place, either.

There was a flutter and a rustle of papers on the counter.

Aziraphale glanced up.

Well, well, well. There was now a postcard from Guatemala where a moment before, there had been nothing.

Aziraphale picked it up gingerly; the cardboard postcard still felt hot and smelled faintly of brimstone. On the front was a glossy photograph of mountains covered in lush shades of green. On the back was scrawled a short message:

_Angel--_

_So glad you're not here to spoil any of my fun. Guerilla terrorists are lovely this time of year. Merry Christmas. Heard the Heavenly Chorus was doing London this year, so happy I'm on the other side of the world. I'll try to bring you back some chocolates. _

It wasn't even signed, but then again, it didn't need to be.

Aziraphale held the postcard, stared at it, and debated inwardly whether to be glad that Crowley had not yet been caught by Hell's authorities or not. He didn't really want to exactly be rooting for a demon, but on the other hand, Crowley was his friend, of sorts, and he should certainly try to support his friend...

Aziraphale was still pondering this moral conundrum when Mr. Edwards returned with his cat. The chiming of the bell above Aziraphale's door and the sound of Margie's mewing brought him back to the present.

"You're sure it's not too much of a burden?" Mr. Edwards asked as he set Margie down and shifted the weight of a litter box and a bag of cat food in his arms.

"No. Really, it's not at all. And... Well, my only other Christmas plans were recently, ah, cancelled."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be," Aziraphale said with one of his angelic smiles.

"I feel awful asking you to deal with all this, but I can't just leave her alone in my flat during the day, she really fears being alone," Edwards continued apologetically.

This, thought Aziraphale with a small twinge of disbelief, all coming from a man who runs a shop with a naked woman drawn in pink neon tubing hanging in the front window. And he owns an absolutely lovely cat.

Probably gay, the angel concluded (not for the first time).

"Hello Margie," Aziraphale said, kneeling down and sweeping up the cat in his arms. "Remember me?" Margie purred and licked his nose.

"I still can't believe how quickly she took to you last time," Edwards was commenting, piling up the last of Margie's things by the counter - a stuffed mouse and a water bowl. "Normally she's so skittish around strangers."

"Yes, well, most animals love me," Aziraphale said without a trace of modesty in his voice. And it was true. Animals had a way of sensing things that humans often could not; there was hardly a one of God's creatures on the planet that wouldn't respond to the calm, peaceful aura of an angel.

"Ah," said Edwards. "Well, thank you very much. I should be back for her the day after tomorrow. Take care. I owe you one, I really do."

"No, you don't."

"Of course I do. Really. See you later, then."

Mr. Edwards left, and stepped back into his own property next door, pondering all the while. His neighbor was definitely one of the more eccentric fellows he had met, but not in a bad way, per se - almost too nice for his own good, and wonderful with cats.

Well, he's probably gay, Edwards concluded (not for the first time).

* * *

Continued. 


	3. Chapter 02

Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended upsomehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!

Also: find the Stephen King reference in this chapter, and get a cookie!

* * *

Ordinary Miracles

by Nenena

* * *

Chapter 02

Villatoro, Marcos McPeek. 1996. Walking to La Milpa: Living in Guatemala with Armies, Demons, Abrazos, and Death. Publishers Group West, Emoryville, California. F1464.3.V55

* * *

Humans were finding the weather unbearably hot and humid, but it suited Crowley just fine. He never sweat, he never sunburned, he had a great tan, and he relished the opportunity to take a reprieve from bland London cuisine, for once. Every day was a different hole-in-the-wall bar with deliciously spicy food and strong, crude drink; every day brought new opportunities to make the locale more miserable and pathetic than, in Crowley's opinion, they already were.

Crowley spent most of each day in a bar. But every day in different bar - he was on the run, after all. And he avoided any touristy spots. They were probably looking for him around the touristy spots.

His Spanish was also flawless. Nobody ever mistook him for a foreigner. Or if they did, he was able to push that suspicion out of their heads real quick.

Today, it wasn't yet noon when Crowley was already into his sixth margarita in a row. He was sitting on a stool beneath a shady overhang in an open-air bar in the middle of some podunk nowhere village in the mountains. The sun beat on his back in a pleasant way that reminded him of days long past, spent curling his long, shimmering snake's body around a convenient rock in some sun-splashed spot and letting his cold blood bake in the heat. Inside the bar, inside the shade, was a television. There was a soccer game on, but Crowley was barely following it. Back in the kitchen, where he couldn't see (but could hear perfectly well), the only cook was arguing with the only bartender, again. They were shouting. They were also, Crowley noted, married. He grinned. Well, not for much longer. And the best part was, Crowley wasn't even doing anything. Just sipping his margarita and grinning, listening to a pair of humans damn themselves.

Good times, good times.

And then, all of the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

Although he had heard no footsteps approaching from behind, Crowley slowly registered that there was someone sitting down on the stool next to him. Not a human - a demon. Crowley sniffed, and smelled brimstone and tequila.

"Hola," said the interloper.

Crowley turned his head and actually lifted his sunglasses off his nose, squinting his eyes. He said a name that would have made any human's skin crawl. The other one shook his head. "Nah, I go by Tajo up here."

Crowley sighed. There was no point in running now. The game was over. "So. Tajo. Long time no see."

"You sound glum to see me."

"No offense."

"None taken." Tajo settled back on his creaking stool. He was wearing a straw hat and a polo shirt and chinos. A human would have been sweltering in that outfit, dripping with sweat, but Tajo was dry and cool. His skin was darkly tanned, there were speckled black moles dotting both his arms, and his eyes were a boring, muddy shade of brown.

Ah, noted Crowley with some admiration. Tajo was one of the rare demons who had had enough experience wearing a human body to wear it with style; he had probably, like Crowley, been doing fieldwork for quite some time. That was, Crowley flattered himself, the only way to explain how Tajo had been smart enough to know where to look for him.

Tajo confirmed this a moment later when he said, "I was doing work in Buenos Aires when I heard the news that there was a bounty on your head. Thought I'd give myself a crack at it, just for kicks. Have you ever been to Buenos Aires? It's hard for a demon to find things to do down there. I mean, those humans," he waved his hand in a vague way, "it's like they don't even need me around to make themselves miserable. You know?"

"You're preaching to the choir." Crowley grinned. "Candy latch, and all that."

"Can de lach," Tajo corrected automatically. He squinted. "Are you drunk? Why aren't you running?"

"I dunno. What's the worst that could happen this time? I already went through this twice before. The Big Red Guy gets pissed, the Big Red Guy orders me back, I run, they send demons after me, down I go, there's some torture or other involved, time passes, then I'm sent back up again."

"What makes you think that this time they're going to let you come back up? I mean - really. You lost his son, man. That's a big deal. And, and, Armageddon didn't happen. A lot of demons are upset about that one."

"Are you upset about it?"

"Hmm." Tajo drummed his fingers on the greasy wood of the bar counter. His nails were long; they clacked and clicked as he did so. "I should get in trouble for saying this, but, you know, His ears aren't everywhere." Tajo grinned, and his teeth were very sharp. "I don't know what I'd do, if I had to spend an eternity without--"

--There was a scream, the sound of glass breaking, and more shouting from back in the kitchen—

"--stuff like that," Tajo finished. "Humans, you know, going at each other's throats. Oh, sure, in Hell the human souls are supposed to be miserable all the time, I know that," Tajo rolled his eyes, "but it's not the same as it is up here. Down There it's up to us demons to make them suffer. But up here, you can just sit back and watch them do it to each other. Up here you know they still have a choice, that they can go either way - and then they still choose the same path. It gets me every time. I've been doing this job for a millennium and it still gets me every time."

"Hmm." Crowley sipped his drink. "That seems like a narrow perception of it all, if you ask me."

"How so?"

"Because they don't always choose the same path. Because we lose sometimes - because some souls still do manage to make it up to Heaven."

Tajo threw back his head and laughed. It was a loud, almost thundering roar that temporarily frightened the buzzing insects all around them into terrified silence. "Yeah, yeah! Have to let some slip through sometimes, right? Or else it would seem like guys like us weren't needed at all - we'd all be out of a job."

"So you do like this job."

"Yeah. And the other way I'd be out of a job would be if the world ended, too. Then I'd definitely be out of a job. So no, I'm not too upset about the whole Armageddon thing."

Crowley stared at his drink.

"But, you know," Tajo continued, "just because I don't hold anything against you doesn't mean that there aren't higher-ranking demons that do. And a bounty is a bounty. And I could use the favor I'd get if I brought you in."

"Try anything stupid, and I'll fight you," Crowley threatened. That was a lie, though; he'd really prefer to just run. But he wasn't sure if Tajo knew that.

Tajo didn't. Crowley could sense Tajo gauging him cautiously, squinting his eyes, trying to calculate his chances. "I'll bite," Crowley added matter-of-factly, and immediately noted with satisfaction that now Tajo was definitely hesitating. Crowley's fangs were still venomous, even to another demon.

"A moment ago you gave up," Tajo finally said. "You said that you didn't mind going down - that you weren't going to run."

"Yeah, well, I changed my mind. Actually, you changed my mind. You just had to go and remind me of who I've pissed off, and about what. I'm not ready to take the chance that they might not let me back up this time."

"Aw, nuts," Tajo grunted. Crowley sensed that Tajo was a lot like him; he didn't want to dirty his hands in an actual fight with another demon. He was far too lazy for that.

Crowley finished off his drink and said, "I'll tell you what. You look thirsty, so I'll buy you a drink. How's that sound?"

Tajo narrowed his eyes. "You're trying to trick me."

"No. It just seems that we've both reached a dead end, and, well, I want another drink, and you should, too. We'll figure something out, right?"

Tajo kept staring at him, flames burning behind his previously innocuous brown eyes. "Don't mess with me, man," he warned.

"I wouldn't dream of."

"I don't trust you."

"Of course. I don't trust you either. But even so, you seem like an okay guy."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Come on, it's just one drink. I'll make it a margarita. What could be the harm?"

* * *

Crowley's original plan had, at that moment, been to keep buying Tajo drinks and to get him drunk enough to pass out, or at least drunk enough to forget about why he was drinking with Crowley in the first place, or at least drunk enough to become considerably confused about the purpose of his mission altogether. Such a similar technique had gotten Crowley out of many scrapes with many other demons (and a few humans) before as well.

What Crowley forgot about, however, was that at the start of the whole thing, he'd already been six margaritas ahead of Tajo. The fact that he already had six margaritas in his system explained a lot about how he could have forgotten that he already had six margaritas in his system.

The other flaw in the plan was that Crowley had to keep ordering himself drinks in order to keep up the pretense that he wasn't just trying to get Tajo drunk. But then again, with six margaritas already in his system, Crowley didn't exactly understand that this fact constituted some sort of flaw at all.

So they drank. And drank. And drank some more.

When Crowley finally returned to his senses sometime much later after that fateful afternoon, Tajo had already dragged him by his hair halfway Down to the Five Hundred and Twenty-Ninth Circle.

"Sorry, man," Tajo said when he noticed that Crowley was returning to a state of semi-awareness. "But if we ever run into each other again, I owe you for all those drinks, okay?"

"Aw," said Crowley, "fuck."

* * *

Continued. 


	4. Chapter 03

Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended upsomehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!

* * *

Ordinary Miracles 

by Nenena

* * *

Chapter 03 

Vigen, Guroian. 1999. Inheriting Paradise: Meditations on Gardening. W.B. Eerdmans Publishing, Grand Rapids, Michigan. BV4596.G36 G87

* * *

Aziraphale didn't sleep, he never slept. (He'd tried it once in the fifteenth century as per Crowley's suggestion, and had found it not quite to his liking. He'd kept dreaming about doing his taxes.) But that particular night, waiting apprehensively for the apprentice that was to come the next morning, Aziraphale was feeling too jittery to do anything productive, either. He spent several hours cleaning and re-arranging the bookshop. Then he sat down in a comfortable chair with Margie on his lap, trying to read a book, thinking about the good work he could be out doing, thinking about what he could possibly buy Mr. Edwards as a nice Christmas gift this year. 

Finally, Aziraphale gave up, closed his book, and asked Margie. "You know him better than I do. What would he be wanting for Christmas?"

Margie gazed up at the angel and purred.

Now, angels can't actually talk to animals or anything of the sort, but they can listen to animals better than most humans can. And Aziraphale knew exactly what Margie's purring alluded to. "I'm terribly sorry," he said, shaking his head, "but I don't think that someone like me should be... er... encouraging that habit... Maybe something along the same lines, but a bit, ah, classier? Does he have a good copy of the kama sutra yet?"

Margie wasn't paying attention anymore. She was thinking, rather impatiently, about how she would rather have the angel scratching her behind her ears. Aziraphale got the hint.

* * *

Morning crept up upon the city all too soon. 

Aziraphale set out for his walk early. Margie had initially thrown an absolute fit when it looked like he was going to leave her behind, so he wrapped her up in a sweater, cradled her in his arms, and carried her along the whole way.

Now he finally understood what Mr. Edwards had meant when he said that Margie was a cat who didn't like to be left alone.

It was snowing lightly. Aziraphale was wrapped up in several layers and a warm overcoat, and Margie seemed snug and happy in his arms, occasionally rubbing her head against his chest. He walked all of the two kilometres that he needed to, deep in thought the whole while. Some people would have thought it strange to see a man carrying a cat wrapped in a sweater through the crowded streets so early in the morning; but then again, most people just didn't notice the angel. He didn't consciously arrange things this way, per se; it was more of a habit, just a tiny but consistent effect on the world around him, because sometimes, he really preferred not to be conspicuous.

He and Margie finally arrived at a church - a big one, old, Catholic, with stone saints and stone gargoyles lurking in every alcove, both inside and out. It was a weekday morning, and the inside of the building was cold, quiet, and deserted. The sinners were all at work, and the only resident priest was sitting alone on the edge of a pew in the front row.

No, wait. Not sitting alone. There was somebody - a small somebody - sitting quietly beside him. And the priest, well, he wasn't exactly the usual Father Johnson that Aziraphale knew from this particular church, at least, not at the moment. Heaven had always liked Father Johnson because he didn't mind the occasional possession by an angelic being when an errand needed to be run; and today certainly seemed to be no exception.

Aziraphale approached slowly, willing Margie to be still and quiet in his arms. "Betheuel?" he tried cautiously.

The priest, or rather, the angel, turned himself gently to face Aziraphale. "/Ah, you're late. What is that you're holding there?/" He wrinkled his nose delicately. "/Do sweaters normally smell so musky?/"

Margie poked her head out of the bundled sweater and glared at the priest-cum-angel. "This, er, is Margie," Aziraphale introduced the cat awkwardly. "I'm watching her as a favor to someone." He turned toward the boy seated beside the priest. "And you must be...?"

"Theo," the boy answered. He sized up Aziraphale with his eyes. His expression revealed instantly that he was not impressed. "Aren't you supposed to be taller?"

Aziraphale raised one eyebrow, but Betheuel answered quickly, "/Field workers find it most beneficial to blend into the human populace and escape notice as much as possible. Assuming a human body with an extraordinary height would be a detriment to that goal. That's lesson number one. Remember that one, boy. There will be more to follow, I'm sure./" He turned and practically glared at Aziraphale, or as much as a particularly self-conscious angel was allowed to glare. "/You will, I trust teach him well./"

"But, the thing is, er, I've never taken on an apprentice before, and I'm not quite sure--"

"/It is not so terribly difficult, Aziraphale. I'm sure that even you won't have too much trouble accomplishing this task competently./" Margie growled low in her throat at that remark, but the other angel continued undeterred. "/Your apprentice must learn how to perform miracles. By the end of one month's time, he must have performed at least one truly good deed, via a coded miracle, that will prove him worthy of earning his wings. If at the end of one month he has done so, then he will be given his wings and an assignment out in the field. Also, we will give him a new name, something more divine-sounding than 'Theo'./" Again, that distasteful little wrinkle of the nose. "/If, however, at the end of one month's time, the boy has not yet performed a good deed or a successful miracle, then he will lose his chance to become an angel, and you, Aziraphale, will most likely have your performance, or lack thereof, evaluated by your immediate superiors, and will most assuredly earn demerits for such a failure./"

"I understand." Aziraphale turned back toward Theo. An adorable little boy, the angel thought, but his eyes were unsettlingly unreadable. "Well. Theo. I know you've heard this already, but my name is Aziraphale." Shifting Margie's weight to support her with one arm, he held out his other hand to the boy. "Shall we go?"

Theo took his hand, a bit warily, and stood up. "Where are we going?"

"Oh, I don't know. Out and about. Let's do some good work, shall we? Goodness, you'll need a thick coat, and a good hat, if we're going out today. Don't you have one?"

"What, a coat, or a hat?" Theo had reappeared on Earth in the same clothing that he had died in - a Cambridge sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. He'd thought that particular detail to be somewhat insensitive of Heaven, but he wasn't about to complain.

"Well, no matter," the angel sighed. And then, just like that, Theo was wearing a thick coat and a hat. It was a rather dorky-looking hat, Theo thought. Nobody actually wore caps with brims anymore, did they?

Aziraphale seemed to sense something in Theo's eyes, because he suddenly appeared flustered. "Oh dear, is it not to your liking?"

"No."

"Er, well, um, I'm not sure... I don't know... Er, what the 'hip cats' would be wearing these days--"

"It's okay," Theo said emphatically, "just don't try." He glanced briefly at the priest, still sitting on the end of the pew. "Can we go now?"

"Go?" The priest blinked, confused. "Where? Who? Excuse me, and who might you be?"

The angel Betheuel, it seemed, had already left the building.

Aziraphale didn't even seem to notice the priest's question. He leaned forward and asked Theo, "Would you like to say hello to Margie? She loves it when you scratch behind her ears."

* * *

They left the church and trudged through the snowy sidewalks. Theo stayed close to the angel, who was, Theo thought with chagrin, not making a very good first impression. He was too short, too ordinary-looking, and he smelled of cinnamon scones and tea and unwashed cat. He was wearing an old, worn, camel-hair coat that looked like it had seen better days sometime around a hundred or so years ago. The same was true for his cap and scarf and scuffed boots. 

The sky was low and gray, and the air was bitterly cold. Theo suddenly sniffled, and then sneezed.

"Oh dear," gasped the angel, "have you come down with a cold?"

Theo snorted back a noseful of snot, rather loudly. "Don't think so. How can I come down with a cold if I'm already dead?" He was still feeling bitter about this whole untimely death business.

"How about we stop in somewhere warm for a bite to eat? I wouldn't know about you, but I, for one, am famished."

"Um... I thought that angels didn't have to eat."

"Not technically, no, although there's no reason not to indulge in one of life's finer, less sinful pleasures."

Ah, thought Theo, that would explain why he looks so chubby.

A half kilometre later, Aziraphale led Theo into the entrance of a tiny little bistro. Someone in a waiter's sharp white-and-black uniform immediately scurried forward to meet them. He was waving his hands in alarm. "I'm sorry sir, terribly sorry sir, but we can't have you bringing that in here--"

"Oh," said Aziraphale, glancing down at the cat in his arms as if he had forgotten completely that she was there in the first place. Margie stared back up at him with her clear green eyes.

They left, and continued walking. It was still snowing. After a while, Theo asked again, "Where are we going?"

"Home, I'm afraid. I don't think that any of the good places to eat along this route will let us in with a cat."

"Where's home?"

"Soho."

"Oh." Theo glanced up at a conveniently nearby street sign. Now, Theo had never actually been in London before, so the street name that he saw meant absolutely nothing to him, but he had a pretty good guess that, the way his day was going so far, it probably meant that they were currently on the opposite side of the city. He sighed. "Do you always

walk everywhere?"

"No, I normally have a friend with a car who doesn't mind driving me. But right now he's, ah... He's on vacation. In Guatemala."

"If you're an angel, can't you just fly wherever you need to go?"

"Oh, but people would notice that." Aziraphale stroked the bundle of fur and sweater in his arms absent-mindedly. "And besides, Margie assures me that she is deathly afraid of heights."

They walked on a while further, in more uncomfortable silence. Then Theo asked, "Hey, aren't you going to, you know, do anything angelic today?"

"Like make miracles, inspire good, deliver divine messages, that sort of business?"

"Yeah. I mean, that's what I'm here to do, at least."

"I did have plans for today," the angel explained, somewhat awkwardly, "but I didn't find out that I was taking on an apprentice until yesterday afternoon. So I really should re-think my schedule now, although it is complicated, it being a very busy time of the year for us, you know. Right now, my only plan is to take you and Margie home, and then step out for a bite to eat. Margie won't mind being left alone for just a few minutes, will you, Margie?"

Margie meowed a loud protest at that.

* * *

Theo felt as though it were hours later that they finally stopped at the door of a small, run-down bookshop right in the center of Soho. "This is it," Aziraphale said as he fiddled with a key in the lock. "It isn't much, but there's some space for us in the apartment above the shop," he explained as he pushed open the door. "I've been using the living space on the floor above as extra storage for books for the past hundred years," the angel explained apologetically as Theo followed him inside the dark, damp, unpleasant-smelling bookshop. "But I cleaned out and tidied it up a bit last night, in case you wanted a place to sleep at all. Consequently, it's become, er, a bit more crowded down here," he added as he maneuvered around several extra piles of books that hadn't been on the floor yesterday. 

Theo immediately wrinkled his nose. "It smells like mice in here."

"Oh, the mice are lovely housemates," Aziraphale said as he set Margie down on the floor and shook out the now fur-covered sweater. "They've agreed not to eat any of my books, as long as I protect them from cats and poison and the like," he continued, casting a meaningful glance at Margie, who sighed and rolled her eyes as if to say all right, all right, I get it, I'll leave them alone, just get off my case already.

Theo wandered further into the shop, his eyes sliding across shelves upon shelves lined with old, dusty books. His shoes, too, were kicking up clouds of dust on the floor. "This place could use a good cleaning," he commented loudly.

"But cleaning is bad for the books. It's bad for the atmosphere here, too."

"Forgive me for saying so, but, the atmosphere here strikes me as kind of..."

"I know. It's that way to discourage people from coming in, or staying long enough to buy any books."

Theo sighed. "Whatever happened to 'cleanliness is Godliness'?"

"Well, God never had himself a book collection," Aziraphale replied as he fretted around Margie's litter box. He wondered if he should bother cleaning out the thing at all. It was really doing a nice job of adding to the overall unpleasant smell of the place.

* * *

Tucked into the furthest back corner of the bookshop, in the back of the back room, was a staircase that hadn't been used in decades - at least, not until last night. Aziraphale led Theo up the creaking wooden stairs and into the "apartment" set up above the shop. Theo noted, with relief, that the smells were largely absent up here. The dust, however, was worse, coating some parts of the floor and the piles of books still lining the halls with inches-thick layers of gray and brown grime. 

"Technically, you don't have to sleep anymore," the angel was saying to Theo, "but I heard that it's hard to make the transition from a sleeping creature to a non-sleeping creature, so I cleaned out the bedroom for you, if you'd like to use it." He pushed open a groaning, creaking wooden door. "Well?"

It was a small room, but, Theo noticed with relief, much less dustier than everything else in the building. There was a bed that looked freshly-made (albeit covered with an awful paisley-patterned comforter), a somewhat clean-looking throw rug tossed onto the wooden floor, a wooden dresser, and a dark closet. There was even a window, which looked out onto the street, although the glass was smeared and smoky in some places. The wallpaper, however, was terrible, and not just because of the impossible yellow and blue daisies that constituted the pattern, but because of the suspicious blotchy stains and peeling sections that dotted every wall. There were faded spots on the wooden floor where Theo guessed that, up until last night, piles of books had sat undisturbed for a hundred years or more.

"It's nice," Theo said politely. And then, "Thank you."

The angel beamed at him. He was quite pleased, having worked very hard to clean out and set aside the space for the boy. "How about I feed Margie, and while she's preoccupied with eating, you and I can step out for a bite of our own?"

Theo's stomach suddenly rumbled loudly. He realized that he hadn't had anything to eat since he had died, which had been quite a while ago. "Um, sure. Sounds good."

* * *

It was like being on an awkward first date. 

Aziraphale took Theo to his favorite French restaurant, only a short walk away from the shop. They sat down at a table, Theo feeling particularly under-dressed in his jeans and sweatshirt. He was busy studying the incomprehensible, French-speckled menu when Aziraphale asked him, "So. Theo. Is that short for Theodore?"

"Uh-huh."

"Oh, dear."

Theo glanced up at him. "What?"

"Well..." Aziraphale fidgeted with his hands in his lap. Theo didn't need to see his hands to know that he was doing it; he just knew. "Er, Betheuel was right, really, that's not a very fitting name for an angel. A bit arrogant, don't you think?"

Theo blinked. This was something new. "Arrogant?"

"Well, don't you know what your name means?"

Theo shook his head.

" 'Theos' means 'God' in Greek. That's where your name derives from. Really, now, doesn't it seem wrong to have an angel flitting about named 'God'? I think He'd be rather upset about it--"

"Okay!" Theo snapped. "Fine, I can change my name later. All right?"

Aziraphale seemed momentarily taken aback. The expression on his face looked hurt. Theo lowered his eyes to the menu again, biting his lip, his cheeks red with embarrassment.

After some time the angel said, "I'm sorry. I mean, Theo is really a lovely name for a little boy."

But Theo would say nothing more; they sat for a few minutes in awkward silence, until a waiter came.

Aziraphale placed his order, three slices of dessert cake and an assortment of pastries, and nothing more. When Theo's turn came, however, he only huffed at the waiter. "Really. You only have to vegetarian entrees on the lunch menu, and absolutely nothing vegan. What kind of carnivores are you catering to here?"

* * *

Aziraphale didn't even know what a vegan was until Theo explained it to him. His initial response to this was, "Well, that seems kind of silly, if you ask me." 

"Nobody asked you."

"You could have told me about your preferences before we went into the restaurant and you had to make a scene in front of that nice waiter," the angel chided as they walked along the sidewalk back home. "He was just doing his job."

"Listen, the things I could tell you about how they raise and treat dairy cattle--"

"Are probably things that I would not like to hear. I enjoy some cream with my coffee every now and then." Aziraphale raised one eyebrow suspiciously at Theo. "I say, were you perhaps French?"

"No. I was from Minnesota."

"Mi... ne... what?"

"America."

"Oh," said the angel, as if that explained everything. Then he was fretting, Theo could tell, it wasn't anything that he actually did with his hands, it was just the tone of his voice and a twitch in his eye. "Er, well, I don't, um, I'm not sure, then, you see, where we could go to eat, because, really, I'm not that familiar with--"

"A grocery store would be best."

"Say what?"

"I know how to cook for myself. My parents were never any good at it."

So they went to a grocery store. Theo bought tofu and sprouts. Aziraphale fretted the whole way home. His home was completely unequipped to deal with such things as the storage of fresh food - he was going to have to miracle a small refrigerator into the back room, he supposed. He had never been in a house with tofu and sprouts before, and was beginning to worry more and more about what Crowley would think when he finally got back in town. And not just about the tofu and sprouts, either.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Theo was eating a bowl of muesli and exploring one of the darker and more forbidding corners of the bookshop (where, he reasoned correctly, the angel surely must have hidden the older and more interesting texts) when Aziraphale appeared out of nowhere and said, "It's about time that we did our good deed for the day, don't you think?" 

Theo's spirit seemed to perk up immediately. "You mean, we'll finally get to do some miracles?"

"Er... No."

"But I thought--"

"You don't always need a miracle in order to accomplish a good deed," the angel said. "And, for the record, I would appreciate it if you wouldn't eat around the merchandise."

"You mean your own collection?"

"Yes. The merchandise. Now bundle up, we've got quite a walk ahead of us."

Theo was suddenly profoundly glad that he was already dead, because he was certain that his legs would have already been crying out in protest otherwise.

Before they left, Aziraphale supplied Margie with even more food, to keep her distracted. They left and walked for what seemed a very, very long time through the falling snow. They finally arrived at an anonymous apartment building, and Theo followed Aziraphale through the main doors, past the lower lobby, into an elevator. They ascended for a while, then got out onto floor twenty-something. Theo followed the angel through more hallways - he seemed to know where he was going, and strode quickly forward as if he had a definite destination in mind - when suddenly the angel stopped.

"Hold still," Aziraphale said.

Theo stood very still, behind the angel.

They were in front of an unmarked door. Aziraphale peered at it for a moment, then closed his eyes, held out his hands, touched the door, and whispered something underneath his breath.

"What are you doing?" Theo felt it appropriate to ask.

"Turning off the security system," Aziraphale explained. "He sometimes sets booby-traps to detect the presence of immortals other than myself. I wouldn't want you suddenly cleaved in half by an axe or eaten by a tiger or any such nonsense. It would look just terrible if I managed to discorporate my first apprentice in less than one day with him."

"Uh... Whose apartment is this?" Theo's voice squeaked.

"An old friend." Aziraphale made a gesture with his fingers, almost too fast for Theo's eyes to follow, and he heard a click as the door unlocked itself and swung slowly forward.

Aziraphale flipped a light switch, and suddenly the interior of the apartment was blindingly bright.

Theo stepped in after the angel. It wasn't a true apartment, he observed right away; it was a flat, and a painfully stylishly decorated one at that. There were white fluorescents overhead and a white leather couch beneath and an awe-inspiringly impressive home theater system dominating Theo's first eyeful of the place. Aziraphale, he saw, was over on the far windowsill, and gathering about half a dozen small potted houseplants in his arms. "A little help here?" he asked.

Theo walked over and took two of the plants from the angel. "Um, are we stealing this person's plants?"

"Not stealing. Saving."

"I don't quite follow."

"I've been Saving these plants for the past three months. I've also been meaning to permanently move them out of here and into my place before the occupant of this flat could return and abuse them any further. But I've been lacking an extra pair of hands until today," the angel explained apologetically.

Theo gaped at him. "We walked all the way across town just to steal a bunch of lousy plants?! THAT'S your good deed for the day?!?!"

From the direction of what Theo understood to be the kitchen area, a low, mechanical, grinding sound emerged.

"We'd better go," Aziraphale said quickly. "I knew he'd have something set up in here that would detect your presence. And I think that he trained his toaster to attack intruders."

* * *

They walked back through the cold and the snow, weighed down by plants. Theo would not speak to the angel. The plants in his arms were heavy, and their lush green leaves trembled and brushed against his face in a way that he found distinctly unpleasant. 

His situation did not improve when, not less than one second after he stepped back into the angel's bookshop, Margie yowled and pounced on him.

"Agh!" Theo gasped, stumbling backward and nearly dropping the plants. Margie scrambled her way up his chest, digging her claws into his coat. She hissed at him.

Aziraphale, who had stepped into the bookshop ahead of Theo, took his

time setting his plants down on the nearest available surface (several wide stacks of books, side-by-side) before he turned around and said, "That's enough, Margie."

Margie slid back down Theo's coat, growling at him, tearing his coat with her claws. Finally, she hopped off of him.

Theo stood shaking, still holding onto his plants, although just barely maintaining his grip on them. "What was that all about?!"

"She's mad at you, for leaving her alone."

"ME?! You were the one who bribed her with food and then left her! You were the one who left her alone!"

"Yes, but that darling cat would never dare attack me," Aziraphale stated matter-of-factly. "Because I'm an angel."

Margie stood not one foot away from Theo, glaring at him, her tail waving back and forth slowly, ponderously. She looked as though she were ready to pounce on him at any minute.

"Oh, look," Aziraphale said, pushing away a pile of dust and papers to uncover a phone that Theo swore hadn't been there this morning. "I've got a message. Er, that's what the little red light means, when it's blinking, right?"

"Yeah. Supposed to."

"Ah. Well then." Aziraphale seemed very pleased with himself. "I've only had this blasted ansaphone for less than a year, and this is my first time receiving an actual message. This is exciting, isn't it?"

"No," Theo answered, carefully stepping around Margie and setting down his plants with the others. "Listen, um, you probably need to put these closer to a window, and you probably want to clean the windows in here a bit first, so that at least a little sunlight can get through--"

Aziraphale was ignoring him, poking various buttons on his phone and trying very hard not to curse. "Play, play, which one is the play button?! Oh, maybe it's this little arrow here... Ah, that's it. Blasted thing, you'd think they'd at least label it with the word 'play'--"

" 'Mr. Phale? This is Edwards,' " an electronically recorded voice began. " 'Listen, um, I'm really sorry about this, but there's a problem with the estate here, and, um, some legal issues that don't look like they're going to be resolved any time soon, and the whole family's feuding about it, and you know how it goes... Anyway, I hate to do this to you, but it looks like I won't be back as soon as I thought, so would you mind watching Margie for a couple days longer?' "

"Oh, great." Theo rolled his eyes.

" 'I should be back in town soon after Christmas. Maybe the day after. I don't see myself being able to return any time before then. I'm sorry. Give me a call on my cell if you can't keep Margie for that long.' "

Mr. Edwards' disembodied voice recited his cell phone number as Theo sighed and began moving the plants closer to the only window in the bookshop, the storefront window that looked as though it had been deliberately smeared and dirtied specifically for the purpose of blocking sunlight out. Theo figured that the angel probably considered sunlight bad for his books - it did, after all, cause colors and print to fade prematurely.

"Did you hear that, Margie?" the idiot angel said to the cat. "You and I get to stay together through Christmas! Isn't that lovely? Oh, Theo dear, thank you so much for your help. Crowley is going to have an absolute fit when he finds out about this, but he can always get himself new plants, I suppose. Theo, you look pale, is something wrong?"

"I've walked farther today than I ever have before anytime in my life. I'm exhausted. Don't you ever use public transportation?"

"You should probably lie down," Aziraphale said, and he sounded genuinely concerned. "It's awfully late, too. Isn't it past your bedtime?"

Theo yawned. As much as he hated to admit it, he was tired. "And I suppose that you never sleep, right?"

"I did once, a couple hundred years ago."

"Figures." Theo started toward the back of the shop. "Since you so graciously provided a bedroom, I might as well use it. So what do you usually do all night?"

Aziraphale smiled at him. "The same things that I do during the daytime."

"How thrilling." Theo made his way through the back room and started up the stairs, leaving the angel and the infernal cat down below.

He sighed when he stepped into his bedroom, yawned again, and sat down on the bed. He blinked. There was no clock in the room, but it was dark outside, and it felt late. His legs ached, which depressed him, because he thought that he had finished with this whole mortal pain business at the moment when he had died. Theo kicked off his shoes, and pulled off his shirt. Then he realized that he had no other clothing to change into, let alone pajamas. So, with a shrug, he stripped off the rest of his clothes and crawled naked beneath the covers of his bed. He could complain about the whole clothing issue to the angel in the morning. Right now, he had to admit that the angel had done at least something right - the bed felt warm, and cozy, and was just the perfect length for his body.

Tomorrow, Theo fervently hoped, things would get more exciting.

With that thought in mind, he drifted off into sleep.

* * *

Continued. 


	5. Chapter 04

Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended upsomehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!

* * *

Ordinary Miracles

by Nenena

* * *

Chapter 04

Melinksy, Michael Arthur Hugh. 1968. Healing Miracles: an Examination from History and Experience of the Place of Miracle in Christian Thought and Medical Practice. A.R. Mowbray, London. BT97.2.M4

* * *

Theo awoke grudgingly, blinking in the bright sunlight, slowly becoming aware that his legs were throbbing with pain. He sat up, winced, and slid out of bed, wobbling slightly. There was fresh clothing piled on the dresser in his room. Theo unfolded the clothing and eyed it suspiciously. The angel's work, he could tell; nobody his age had worn

clothing like this for the past fifty years. Still, it was something. And Theo might as well put it on, he reasoned, since he wasn't about to go downstairs and complain in front of the angel while he was still naked as the day he had been born. He wasn't sure what Heaven's official policy on nudity was, but based on his understanding of the Genesis story and the Garden of Eden and the forbidden fruit and all that had happened after, Theo reasoned that most angels tended to be on the prudish side.

He ventured downstairs, found the back room deserted (although the small card table in the center of the room was covered with half-empty bottles of liquor), and wandered into the front of the shop. He found Aziraphale watering his newly-acquisitioned plants, Margie prowling happily around his feet. He turned and smiled when he saw Theo. "Good morning. Lovely day, isn't it? Would you like a bite for breakfast?"

"Actually," said Theo, feeling both grimy and dorky within his new clothes, "I'd like to shower and brush my teeth."

Aziraphale blinked at him.

"A shower," Theo repeated, "and to brush my teeth. I just woke up. I feel disgusting."

"But angels don't need to do those sorts of things."

"What, you don't brush your teeth?"

"Never have."

"Or bathe?"

Aziraphale shrugged. "I'd rather not get wet, thank you very much."

Theo squinted at the angel, and sniffed. He seemed perfectly clean, his teeth looked fine, and today he smelled of strawberry trifle and hot cocoa (and unwashed cat). Which was really quite amazing, considering the filthy conditions that the angel seemed to prefer to surround himself with.

"Well," said Theo huffily, "I'm not an angel yet, and I feel dirty. I want to bathe."

"There's no need to. You already smell like an angel."

Theo sniffed himself suspiciously. It was true; he smelled like orange currant scones and espresso. He wondered if all angels smelled like food. "But I still want to bathe," he maintained stubbornly.

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale shook his head sadly. "I don't have a bathroom. There's a sink in the back room, but there's usually not any hot water, and I don't have any, er, what do you call them, toothbrushes."

Theo finally caved in, and sighed. "Fine, I'll just be disgusting."

"You're not disgusting. You're an angel."

"Not yet. And not ever, if things keep going at this pace."

"Theo..." Aziraphale turned away from him, and finished watering the plants. Then he put away his watering can and said, "It's only been one day. Come, let's go out on the town today. You want to try your hand at making miracles, don't you?"

Theo perked up at the thought, then winced as he remembered the pain in his legs. "Er, can we take the bus today?"

"But it's such a lovely day for walking--"

"For you, maybe. My legs haven't gotten used to this yet."

"Oh, dear, I'm so sorry. You poor thing." Aziraphale rushed over to Theo and suddenly knelt in front of him, reaching out with one hand and resting it on Theo's thigh. "Does that feel better now?"

And all of a sudden, it did feel better. The dull, throbbing ache disappeared from Theo's legs, and his entire body suddenly felt fresh and strong and ready to walk twice as far as he had walked yesterday. Theo gaped at the angel. "How did you do that?"

"That," said Aziraphale, standing up and dusting off his hands, "was a miracle. It's really just a simple trick of quantum physics. Today I thought I'd take you out and show you how tocode some beginner-level miracles."

Theo felt a knot in his stomach suddenly dissolve with relief. Finally, a real step in the direction of earning his wings! Then he winced again when he realized what he was wearing, and the fact that the angel wanted to take him out in public while clothed in such an old-fashioned getup.

Then Theo took another look at what Aziraphale was wearing today, and thought, heck, at least the two of them would match.

* * *

Aziraphale bundled Margie up in his arms, just as he had yesterday. Then he, Theo, and the cat set out walking.

After some time, they came to a hospital. Aziraphale marched unconcerned through the main entrance, and Theo was about to point out that they certainly wouldn't allow him to bring a filthy, mangy cat into the hospital, when they passed right by the reception desk and a pair of orderlies, and not so much as a single human in the vicinity glanced their way.

Margie meowed, and nobody around them noticed.

Theo glared at the angel. "Are you cheating somehow? Why can't they see that you're holding a cat?"

"None of them can see any of the three of us," Aziraphale answered. "We're certainly not invisible, but I can arrange things so that nobody cares to notice us. Granted, we angels aren't supposed to use such shortcuts unless we're out on official business. So it certainly would have been cheating if I had tried this yesterday at the restaurant that I tried to take you to; but today it's perfectly legitimate. Understand?"

"I suppose so."

They passed through another corridor, into an open doorway, and entered a patient's room. A young man was lying in bed, his eyes closed, his brow drenched in sweat, his mouth and nose covered by an oxygen mask. Several people were gathered around his bed, including a young woman crying softly, and an old woman, grasping a rosary in one hand and muttering prayers beneath her breath. The room was nearly silent save for the quiet sobs of the young woman, the quiet prayers of the old woman, and the persistent beeping and mechanical respiratory sounds of the life support equipment.

"Please hold Margie for me," Aziraphale said as he transferred the cat to Theo's arms and then stepped forward. Theo hung back, watching silently. Margie turned her face up to glare at him, making it perfectly clear from the expression on her face that she would rather have been held by Aziraphale. Then she, too, turned her gaze forward and focused her attention on the angel.

Aziraphale sidled around behind the small crowd of people gathered around the bed, frowning, obviously looking for a space to poke himself in. But there was no available space; whoever this person was, Theo saw, he certainly seemed to have more than enough friends and family to spare. Finally, the angel stood still, frowning and tapping his foot. Then he sighed with resignation, seemed to shimmer for a moment, and then stepped forward again, passing himself right through the sobbing young woman. He was at the side of the bed now, Theo could tell, but other than that, the crowd around the bed was completely blocking Theo's view.

Theo held his breath.

And, a moment later, Aziraphale was suddenly back at his side. "Well, that should do the trick," he said. He unbuttoned his blazer, pulled a small blue notebook out of an inside pocket, opened the notebook, and with a pen that suddenly appeared in his hand, applied a checkmark to the middle of a page.

Theo blinked at the angel. "What did you do?"

"Er," Aziraphale seemed caught off-guard by the question. "Er, couldn't you follow along?"

"What do you mean, follow along?"

"I mean, the maths. I was trying to demonstrate it for you--"

"I didn't see or hear anything."

"Oh, dear."

But now there was a sudden commotion in the room. The young man's eyes began to open slowly, and he was turning his head to one side. A collective gasp swept the crowd around the bed. The old woman turned her face toward the ceiling and clasped her hands in prayer again.

"Well, wouldn't you know," said Aziraphale, not paying attention at all to what was happening in at the bed in front of him, but instead peering intensely at the scribbled notes within his little notebook. "I've still got five more miracles scheduled in this hospital alone. Huh! Busy day, isn't it?" He turned and stepped out of the room, motioning for Theo to follow. "You wouldn't mind carrying Margie around for me, would you?"

Theo followed the angel out of the room, clutching the cat to his chest. "Th-Th-That was incredible!" he gushed. "How did you DO that? Can't you show me how?!"

"That's, ah, that's the problem," Aziraphale said slowly. "I thought I was showing you how. You were supposed to be able to follow along with the code as I wrote it."

"But I didn't--"

"Yes, I know, you didn't sense anything happening." The angel frowned. "This is tricky, then. I suppose I don't really know how to properly demonstrate a miracle. I mean, I've never had to teach anybody else how to do one, not ever before."

* * *

They visited several more rooms after that, and each room meant another checkmark in the angel's little blue notebook. But Theo watched each and every miracle performed with a growing sense of bewilderment. He could never see anything actually being done - just Aziraphale, leaning close to or perhaps touching a sick person, and then, voila! a moment later, the miracle occurred. Aziraphale, too, seemed to be growing more and more befuddled.

"It must be my fault," he finally said, as they walked through a corridor on the top floor of the hospital. "I'm very sorry, Theo, but I just don't know how to make these things, er, transparent, I guess, would be the right word."

"But could you at least tell me what you're doing?"

"Maths," Aziraphale said helplessly, waving his hands in the air, "and just, you know, just a little tweaking the fabric of reality, that's really all it is. But a miracle isn't something that can be spoken aloud or written down on paper. It doesn't work that way."

"Well, then, how DOES it work?"

"I... I don't know how to explain it!"

"Then SHOW me!"

"I've been showing you, but for some reason, you're not seeing or hearing or sensing what you need to be seeing and hearing and sensing!" The angel suddenly interrupted his stride and turned. "Last room," he said. Theo followed him inside. Aziraphale suddenly said, "Here, put the cat down. Let's try it this way..."

Theo placed Margie down on the ground, where she sat, wrapped in the angel's old sweater, glaring up at Theo with an expression on her face that indicated just how affronted she was at the mere thought that he would not want to be holding her. Then Aziraphale took Theo's hand and pulled him toward the bed at the center of the room.

Sitting in the bed was a middle-aged man wearing a hospital gown. He didn't look particularly sick, Theo noted. In fact, he seemed perfectly healthy and content, sitting up in his bed and reading the daily newspaper.

"What's wrong with him?"

"He's here for a minor surgery, but he also, alas, suffers from an undiagnosed heart condition that's about to-- Oh, hello, didn't see you there."

IF YOU'RE GOING TO INTERFERE, THEN HURRY UP AND DO IT, a new voice said. I CAN SEE THAT BOTH OF US ARE RUNNING A BIT BEHIND SCHEDULE, BUT I'D RATHER NOT FALL EVEN FURTHER BEHIND IN MY DUTIES BECAUSE OF A SLOW-WITTED ANGEL.

Theo looked up, and his breath died in his throat.

There was somebody else in the room, on the other side of the man's bed. A tall, dark, hooded figure, holding a scythe.

"Grant us the favor of a minute," Aziraphale said frostily. "I brought my apprentice to try the miracle this time, and it's his first shot at this sort of thing."

Death tapped his bony foot impatiently and turned his hooded skull toward Theo. OH, DIDN'T I SEE YOU NOT TOO LONG AGO? Then he seemed to be looking over Theo's shoulder at something. MY WORD, YOU'VE BROUGHT A CAT IN HERE!

Completely oblivious to the commotion surrounding him, the man in the hospital bed flipped over another page in his newspaper and continued reading.

Aziraphale pushed Theo toward the edge of the bed. "Don't mind him," the angel muttered into Theo's ear, casting a quick, cool glare at the shadow with the scythe. "He's only here in case we screw up, and he ends up having to do his bit after all."

Theo gulped.

Aziraphale stood behind Theo, and placed his hands on his. "Maybe this will help," the angel said. "You were a human, so you're used to thinking of things in four-dimensional terms. But we angels operate on a thirteen-dimensional level, and that's what you've got to start getting used to."

Theo blinked. "Thirteen dimensions?"

"Yes, we have thirteen dimensions."

"Why thirteen?"

"It's a lucky number, I suppose."

"No, it's--"

"Listen to me," Aziraphale said as he pressed down onto Theo's hands. "Reach out and touch his arm, like so. Good. Now start the code."

"What code?" Theo asked helplessly.

"The miracle. You have to start coding it now."

ANY TIME NOW, Death added, somewhat impatiently. THIS SOUL IS PAST DUE ALREADY. DIVINE INTERVENTION CANNOT TAKE FOREVER, YOU REALIZE.

"But I don't KNOW what sort of code you're talking about!" Theo wailed at the angel. "You haven't explained anything to me!"

"Because I don't know how to explain it!" Aziraphale replied in a perfectly matching register. "I've never even had to think about any of this before, it's just - it's just - it's just thirteen-dimensional calculus! It should be intuitive!"

"Thirteen-dimensional calculus?! But I never even finished seventh grade!!"

Death stepped forward and swung back his scythe.

I'M SORRY, BUT IT SEEMS AS THOUGH THE WINDOW OF OPPORTUNITY HAS PASSED.

The man in the bed suddenly gasped and leaned forward. His newspaper slipped from his hands as his left hand clutched at his chest and his right hand gripped the railing of his bed until his knuckles turned white. Theo twisted his grip, trying to keep his hand touching the man's arm. The man's face contorted into a rictus of pain, and sweat began dripping from his brow.

Theo stared straight into the man's pale, twisted face, and then looked up at the glimmering blade of Death's scythe, poised to swoop down at any second. "No-- No! Just gimme a minute, I have to--!"

I REALLY AM SORRY.

The blade swung down.

"NO!" Theo screamed.

And a perfectly thirteen-dimensional differential equation exploded inside Theo's brain.

The scythe stopped, frozen, halfway through its downward arc.

Death's bony arms trembled as they struggled to push the scythe down through the resisting air. WHAT DID YOU JUST DO?

On the hospital bed, the man still gasped, and rocked back and forth, clutching at his chest, now opening his mouth to make a desperate, wheezing, gurgling sound.

"You just cured him of prostate cancer," Aziraphale said very calmly to Theo. "Unfortunately, he doesn't have prostate cancer." He pulled his hand off Theo's and reached out, touching the man's arm himself. A moment later, the man relaxed, took a deep breath, trembled a bit, and began to settle back into his bed. "There, there," said the angel soothingly, "That's all right now. No more blockage in the arteries, not anymore."

Death pulled back his scythe and stepped away from the bed. I SHOULD NOT LET YOU GET AWAY WITH THIS, ANGEL. YOUR MIRACLE CAME TOO LATE TO SAVE THIS MAN.

"You can file a complaint with Heaven, if you'd like," Aziraphale answered. "But you still can't take him now. Once Divine Intervention has touched a human like this, your scythe can't some near them anymore, not until we say that their time is up."

VERY WELL. I FULLY INTEND TO FILE A COMPLAINT ABOUT THIS, AND I SHALL ENJOY PERSUING THE PROPER PAPERWORK. With that, Death faded away into nothing.

Theo suddenly slumped to his knees beside the bed, gasping for breath. "Oh," he gasped, "Oh! Now I get it. THIRTEEN-dimensional math. NOW it all makes sense."

* * *

They left the hospital. Theo walked along beside Aziraphale, feeling as though his legs were made of water. _Wow,_ he thought, _Wow. I actually did it. I actually made a miracle! Okay, granted, it was the wrong miracle for the situation, but still--_

"I think you should try again," Aziraphale said suddenly, as Margie meowed and purred while being held in his arms. "We need to work on your, ah, your precision."

Theo blushed a bright red, heartily embarrassed. "Oh. Yeah."

"Hmm. Here we go!" Aziraphale suddenly veered off to the left, around the corner of a building. Theo followed quickly, and found himself wandering down a dark, dank, cold alley. Snow drifted against the walls of the ally and garbage gathered in white-bordered brown mounds at the back of the narrow space between buildings. Aziraphale was kneeling next to a sleeping homeless man. He motioned for Theo to join him, and Theo did, kneeling down right next to the angel.

"This man does have prostate cancer," the angel said happily. He actually sounded as if he couldn't believe his good luck, that he had just stumbled upon a drunken vagrant suffering from such a specific, particular terminal disease. "Can you cure him? Do it just like you did last time."

Theo wrinkled his nose at the sleeping man's smell. "Does this guy really, uh, deserve a miracle?"

"Yes. He's lived a long, good life, often sacrificing his own happiness for the sake of others."

"Can you tell all that just by looking at him?"

"Of course."

"Fine, I thought so," Theo sighed. He reached out and gingerly touched the sleeve of the sleeping man's filthy overcoat. He closed his eyes and thought, _Thirteen-dimensional calculus, thirteen-dimensional calculus, thirteen-dimensional--_

An equation suddenly exploded across his thoughts and solved itself in an instant.

Theo opened his eyes.

Aziraphale was frowning at him. "No good," he said. "Look." The angel pointed, and Theo saw that the sleeping man was now clutching a wrinkled National Lottery ticket in one dirt-crusted, frozen hand.

Theo blinked. "Wait. What did I just do?"

"This man just won the lottery. That was your miracle." The angel shifted Margie's weight in his arms, stood up, and brushed off his snowy knees with his free hand.

Theo stood up, too. "But that's good, right? That's a good miracle, I think. A perfectly good miracle. I mean, I could even earn my wings for that one, right?"

"No, I don't think so," Aziraphale said briskly. "Miracles like lottery winnings and the like usually provide too much of a 'dues ex machina' happy ending to satisfy Heaven's tastes. Besides, it won't do him much good if he dies of cancer within a year."

"I don't see how winning the lottery is any less 'dues ex machina' than you snapping your fingers and healing that man's heart condition," Theo protested angrily.

"I did not snap my fingers," Aziraphale sniffed haughtily. "Finger-snapping is for stage magicians, and for the Crowleys of the world. Trust me, I would know. We angels do not create spectacles. We perform miracles. There's a difference," he insisted in a voice that sounded as though he were trying fervently to make himself believe it. "There is a difference. Trust me."

* * *

They walked on through the city in silence. Finally Aziraphale said, "Maybe miracles just aren't your thing today. Shall we try something else?"

"Like what?"

"Hmm..." Aziraphale furrowed his brow in thought. "I was thinking of dropping down into a starving artist tenement that I know of, and sprinkling around some divine inspiration."

"Yeah. Sure. I can do art. But... Can we at least take the bus this time?"

They did take the bus, cat and all. And sometime later that afternoon, Theo appeared in a burst of light in front of a poor starving artist at home in her flat, resplendent in his heavenly robes and a fake pair of wings and a halo (a bit of stage-magic that Aziraphale felt was completely justified under the circumstances), and said, "Behold! You shall paint the Glories of God on thy canvas and spread His holy--"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHH!" the artist screamed. She turned around and ran away from Theo, straight into a wall. She collapsed backward onto the floor, her nose gushing blood, her head filled only with the thought that she was absolutely convinced never to buy drugs from that shady Chinese guy with the goatee ever again.

Theo turned and looked helplessly at Aziraphale, who was lurking (well, as close to lurking as angels ever actually got) with Margie on the proverbial sidelines.

Aziraphale shrugged. "Don't worry. I get that reaction a lot, too."

They left the starving artists tenement then, and made their way back uptown on foot. "I think we should start at the bottom, with the very basics, perhaps," Aziraphale finally conceded. "Let's you and me at least try to inspire a little bit of good in some politicians today, shall we? It's not as difficult as you would think. Many of them are truly good men and women at heart."

Theo was not at all surprised when he and his angel (who was still carrying a cat in his arms) walked straight into the luxurious home of a House of Commons member later that evening, without any of the guards or maids or butlers so much as blinking an eye at them. _Common, indeed,_Theo thought with some disgust as followed Aziraphale down a corridor lined with priceless marble statues and imported Chinese vases.

"This is going to be very simple," Aziraphale was saying. "This man hasn't even met Crowley yet, not like the rest of them have. He's untainted, so far. He's a rookie member of the House, and tonight he's struggling with his first true moral conundrum. All you have to do is give him a little nudge in the right direction."

Theo silently marveled that the angel must have some sort of private, personal intelligence network that would put the CIA and the NSA to shame. How in the world did he always seem to know all these things?!

And who, or what, was a Crowley?

Theo pushed those stray thoughts out of mind as he followed the angel into the House member's study. The particular man in question was sitting at his desk, holding his head in his hands, groaning under the weight of a massive headache and a guilty conscience. There was a stack of unread papers on the desk in front of him.

Theo licked his lips and coughed to clear his throat. Then he stepped forward, toward the man, and silently noted Aziraphale (and Margie) stepping back into the shadows, to watch.

Theo approached the man and stood beside him. He laid a hand on the man's shoulder, trying to be as calm and comforting as he could be. "Is something troubling your heart?" he asked.

"Even during recess I can't seem to get away from these things," the politician moaned. "You wouldn't believe the pork everyone's trying to slip into this stupid national security bill. Give more money to police and fire departments, that's supposed to be what it's all about. But there's some other stuff in here, good stuff and bad stuff, and the problem is, it's not ALL pork, is it? There's a couple of lines hidden in here about giving more money to federally-funded orphanages. But the budget we've been drawing up so far takes any money that goes into this bill away from pension benefits of retired servicemen. Which is bad in and of itself, and it defeats the original purpose of the bill anyway. How are we supposed to entice more people to pursue careers in police work and firefighting if we can't promise them retirement security?"

Theo said nothing. He thought for a moment, and thought very hard, and still said nothing. Then he turned around and asked the angel lurking (although not really lurking) behind him, "Okay, so, which way is supposed to be the right way to go?"

"Oh, dear." Aziraphale glanced from side to side, as if searching for answers in the shadows of the room. Theo could suddenly tell that perhaps the angel hadn't thought this one out very well, advanced personal intelligence network or not. Finally Aziraphale said, "I suppose there is no easy answer for this one, is there? But that's an important lesson to learn, too. There often aren't easy answers to these sorts of problems."

"Now there's a trite bit of wisdom for you," Theo said with disgust. He turned back to the tortured politician. "There are no easy answers to these sorts of problems," he repeated.

"So I suppose that means that whatever I do, somebody's going to get screwed over in the end?" the man asked.

"Sure," said Theo, because that certainly sounded right to him. "That's true." He turned away from the politician. "I'm tired," he told Aziraphale, "and it's been dark outside for hours. Can we call it a day now?"

The angel looked down at Theo, and his eyes were suddenly very sad. "You just want to go home now, don't you?"

"No, it's not home. It's just the place I'm staying at while I'm with you."

The angel cast his eyes down. "Very well. We can go back now. We can even take the bus, if you'd like."

They left. The next day, the politician that they had visited remembered the words that an angel had told him - that somebody always had to get screwed over in the end - and decided, hell, if everything he did would result in an injustice, why not at least try to engineer things so that he himself would come out on top in the end? In the upcoming legislative session, he would propose that funding to both fire and police pension funds and federally-funded orphanages should be cut, and that all Commons members should write themselves a salary increase into the new budget. His proposed amendments were already destined to pass with unanimous approval. And somewhere Down Below, some bureaucratic demon was already writing Crowley yet another commendation for something that he hadn't actually done.

* * *

It was very late when Aziraphale, Theo, and Margie returned to the bookshop. Even Margie was tired, and she yawned and slipped down into sleep several times during the bus ride home. When they re-entered the bookshop, Theo didn't even say anything to Aziraphale, he just walked straight into the back room and up the stairs.

"Theo--!" Aziraphale called up the stairs after him.

"Can it wait until morning? I want to sleep again!" Theo called back over his shoulder. Then, without waiting for a reply, he stalked into his room and slammed the door shut behind him.

Theo pulled off his blazer and vest and shirt. Then he stood, shirtless, holding the sadly outdated piece of clothing that was his blazer in his hands. "If I can make miracles," he reasoned aloud to himself, "I should be able to miracle this thing into something wearable, right?"

He closed his eyes, and thought of thirteen-dimensional equations.

Theo felt a change in his hands, and when he opened his eyes, he saw that his hands were now grasping the bodice of a gorgeous blue ball gown.

Theo closed his eyes again and thought, _Something that I could wear..._

He felt another change in his hands, and opened his eyes again. Now he was holding a rubber dinosaur costume. And even worse, the wallpaper in his room had changed. Now it was covered with a pattern that consisted of repeating images of blue and red boy's swimming trunks.

Theo sighed. This whole altering the fabric of reality business was a lot trickier than he'd first thought.

_But it's that idiot angel's fault, too,_ he thought viciously as he pulled off his pants and crawled into bed. _It's like he can't even teach me anything. And how am I supposed to know how to make miracles without him explaining it all properly? 'Intuitive', he said. Stupid useless angel. I know that some people make better teachers than others, but why do I have to be stuck with someone who can't seem to teach anything at all?_

His head filled with such black thoughts, Theo drifted off into sleep.

* * *

Continued. 


	6. Chapter 05

Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended upsomehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!

* * *

Ordinary Miracles

by Nenena

* * *

Chapter 05

Moore, Clement Clarke. "The Night Before Christmas." from Poems, 1844. Bartlett & Welford, New York. PS2429.M5

* * *

Christmas drew nearer, day by day. And Theo could see his hopes of earning his wings and becoming a proper angel drawing farther away, day by day. Nothing that he did seemed to work out right at all. As the city swung fully into Holiday mode, Aziraphale carted Theo around on his daily errands, and he always tried to let Theo try his hand at a few simple tasks, and he always seemed to have to clean up after Theo's inevitable mess afterwards.

There was, for example, the pious little old lady who wished that she could afford a piano so that she could teach music lessons to, and sing hymns with, the children in her neighborhood. She wished and wished for a piano, and then one day, while she was walking along on the sidewalk, a piano nearly fell on top of her and crushed her (although Aziraphale managed to save her at the last moment). There was the man who was tempted by a woman other than his wife, and thanks to some frank words from Theo, ended up convinced that yes, marriage was a constraining social construct legitimated by an oppressive society and that it would do both him and his wife a service if he would just walk out on her (and move in with his pretty blonde twenty-year-old girlfriend). There was the nice young doctor whose brilliant career promised to bring him close to a cure for AIDS, but whose life was about to be tragically cut short as he was supposed to be run down by a drunk driver while he was crossing the street one afternoon.

Thanks to the intervention of an apprentice angel, he was not hit by a drunk driver behind the wheel of a normal car; he was actually hit by a triple-decker bus running a red light. (Thanks to the frantic intervention of a more experienced angel, the doctor miraculously survived; Death, somewhat testily, vowed to file more paperwork against said angel.) There was the little girl who wished that her parents wouldn't divorce, who somehow ended up with duck feet for a day; and then there were her parents, who were seriously considering not divorcing, until an apprentice angel visited them, listened to both sides of their stories, and sagely convinced the wife that she was completely right, everything that had gone wrong in her life was all her husband's fault, and she was much better off just dumping the loser.

Nearly a week later, it was the day before Christmas. And Theo was at his wit's end. The tricky thing about making miracles was that there was actually quite a lot of quantum physics and thirteen-dimensional mathematical calculus involved. That, and one had to be careful about when, and where, and under what circumstances a miracle was applied to reality - it had to be aimed right, executed right, and timed just so. And if it was done wrong, some poor human could, say, end up with duck feet. Fortunately, the math and the quantum physics part of it all never bothered Aziraphale. This was because, after six thousands years of miracle-making, his angelic brain had practically automated the process, and any calculations that had to be done were more instantaneous reflex than they were an actual effort of thought. When Aziraphale wanted a miracle to be done, it was done. Simple as that.

It was probably a good thing that Aziraphale never bothered to stop and think about the maths, though. This was because he had never been particularly good at calculus.

Theo, however, couldn't even turn water into wine.

"I don't get it," Theo was complaining loudly that fateful pre-Christmas day, sitting in one corner of the bookshop while Aziraphale shelved books across the room. "I mean, I did everything just like it's supposed to go," he grumped, glaring at the glass of water he was holding in his lap. "But it won't work!"

Aziraphale turned and glanced at him, his eyes seeing something that only an angel could see. "You forgot to divide by the--" and then he said a perfectly thirteen-dimensional number that human ears could hardly comprehend "--and carry the two. You also forgot to carry the two."

"Oh," said Theo.

And then he finally was holding a glass of wine, although it was very watery wine, and when Aziraphale finally tried a sip, he discovered that it wasn't even a good wine, it was merely a cheap California fruit zinfandel. "Well," said Aziraphale encouragingly, "that's certainly an improvement, at least. Keep trying, you'll get the hang of it."

The angel wandered over to the counter where he kept his mostly unused cash register next to several dusty stacks of receipts and official-looking papers. He puttered around back there for a while, re-arranging papers, while Theo glared at his glass of zinfandel. Then Theo heard a strange fwoomp! sound, and caught a whiff of the scent of smoke and brimstone. He turned his head and saw that Aziraphale, a look of perfect surprise on his face, was suddenly holding a postcard in his hands. Aziraphale frowned for a moment at the card, and Theo heard his distinctly murmur, "He knows I hate it when he does that..."

Theo craned his neck to get a good look at the front of the card. All he could make out was a picture of some flames and flowing lava, and cheerful text that proclaimed, "Greetings from the Fifth Circle!"

"Who's that from?" Theo asked, putting aside his glass of zinfandel and crossing the room over toward the angel.

"Oh, dear," Aziraphale gasped faintly, the color draining from his face as he read whatever was written on the back of the card. "Oh, no." He slumped down into the chair he kept behind the counter, and began muttering to himself. "It's too soon. Once they catch up with him, they usually keep him Down There for decades at a time. No, he can't be coming here, not now, not tonight, it's such bad timing--"

"Who?" Theo asked again.

"Nobody," Aziraphale said too quickly, and the postcard in his hands suddenly vanished in a burst of flame. He wiped the subsequent ashes from his hands on his pants and stood up, saying brusquely, "Since it is Christmas Eve, I do have a full night of work scheduled for both of us. If you were planning on sleeping anytime in the next twenty-four hours, I'd suggest that you do so now."

Theo glanced up at the angel sharply. "Sleep? Now?! But it's the middle of the day!"

"We're going to be staying out and about all through the night. Are you yet at the point where you can handle that without sleep beforehand?"

"No," Theo admitted grudgingly.

"Then take a nap."

"I'm not a baby."

"Fine. Then take a respite."

"That's better." Theo turned and left, heading through the back room and up the stairs. He reached his bedroom, undressed, and laid down on his bed, his thoughts whirling a hundred miles a minute through his brain. Smoke, and the smell of brimstone. "Greetings from the Fifth Circle"?! Theo knew of only one place in the States where people send postcards with pictures of lava flows on them, and he was fairly certain that the angel hadn't just gotten a postcard from a friend in Hawaii.

Aziraphale was hiding something from him. Theo turned over in his bed and thought, _Demons_. They had told him that there was normally a demon in this city, wasn't there? Aziraphale hadn't mentioned so much as a single word about where Hell's servant was currently hiding itself or what Theo was ever supposed to do if he actually did come across a real live demon. In fact, Theo realized, after an entire week of his training had passed, Aziraphale hadn't even mentioned the word "demon", not even once.

Was Aziraphale perhaps... afraid of this particular demon?

Yes, Theo realized wearily, that would make the most sense. His opinion of the angel currently wasn't all that high, and he wondered that such a clever and fearful demon as he had been told lurked in this city hadn't already established his supremacy over the entire Isles, what with Aziraphale as his only competition and all. Maybe, Theo thought darkly, that was already the case. Maybe the clever and fearful demon already had Aziraphale under his thumb. Maybe he regularly sent the angel threatening postcards with creepy epithets like "Greetings from the Fifth Circle!" plastered across the front.

Nah, Theo thought, shaking his head against his pillow. Aziraphale might be addle-brained and a bad teacher, but he certainly didn't have the air of a cowed or defeated angel. Still, Theo suspected that the angel had to be at least afraid of the demon - that would account for the peculiar way that he had so far mentioned nothing to Theo about how he was to go about Fighting the Dark Forces. Theo guessed that Aziraphale's method was to just stay as far away from said Dark Forces as possible. And that awful postcard that the angel had received had certainly given him a bad fright, and it certainly appeared to originate from a demon. Theo clenched his jaw angrily. Well, Aziraphale could muddle about this demon problem all he wanted to, but he, Theo, wasn't about to let any old demon go around threatening his angel.

Theo sat up and hopped out of his bed. He rummaged through the drawers of the dresser in his room until he found what he was looking for - a silver crucifix, the type that normally hung above the doors of prayer schools and Bible schools, a cold, heavy, blunt metal object. It was an unornamental silver cross with a tiny silver figure of Jesus nailed to it. The silver Jesus' body was thin and twisted and his face was wracked with pain. _Lovely thing,_ Theo thought bitterly. He'd found the crucifix lying at the bottom of his dresser drawer the second night he had moved in with the angel, when he had been exploring his dresser and his closest just for kicks. The crucifix was so painfully ugly, it was no wonder that the angel had chosen to tuck it away somewhere instead of actually hanging it up on any wall. Theo marveled that Aziraphale would own such a hideous object in the first place... But then he paused, glanced up at the wallpaper in his room and the paisley-covered comforter on his bed, and reminded himself, hey, this is Aziraphale we're talking about. There's just is no accounting for bad taste.

Still, Theo felt a lot safer with the cold metal holy object held in his hands. Still clutching the crucifix, Theo crawled back into his bed and fell easily asleep.

* * *

In the bookshop the level below Theo's bedroom, Aziraphale fretted.

He was very close to being in a state of panic. He still remembered what had been scrawled on the postcard's back, word-for-word.

_Angel—_

_I don't know if you've figured this out yet or not, but I'm back Down Here again, and have been for a week. Funny thing is, they're letting me out early this time - for bad behavior. Tonight, in fact. I've actually been ordered to show up in the city before midnight tonight. It's the last place that I'd ever want to be, what with the Chorus in town tonight and all. I thought it would be safest if I dropped by your place for a drink and stayed there 'till the Chorus left. Heard you got kicked out this year anyway, and I could use a chat. _

_Sorry, didn't have a chance to pick you up any souvenirs from Guatemala. Figured you wouldn't want any souvenirs from Down Here. Although I never know, with your fetish for Dante and Bosch and all. How about I just buy some nice wine before I drop by?_

_PS - I already know about the plants. Am currently plotting heinous revenge._

Tonight, Aziraphale thought morosely. The bastard demon was going to up and impose himself tonight. He already knew about the plants somehow, so at least he wouldn't be surprised when he saw them happily sitting in the front window of the bookshop. Aziraphale was grateful for that small favor. But the demon didn't yet know about a cat named Margie or a rather incorrigible young boy named Theo who were currently sharing the bookshop with Aziraphale. And Aziraphale knew enough about Crowley to know that the demon generally did not play well with others. And he hated animals.

As if on cue, Margie suddenly appeared out of nowhere and rubbed herself against Aziraphale's legs, purring. Aziraphale reached down and absent-mindedly scratched the cat behind her ears. He was also, he thought wretchedly, worried about Theo. Theo didn't know anything about Crowley or the Arrangement or how demons actually lived and worked in the real world. Although they had never spoken of the subject, Aziraphale knew that Theo already harbored several very specific ideas about what demons were and what he, as an angel, was supposed to do if he ever ran across an actual demon.

What if Theo found out about the Arrangement and didn't approve?

If he decided to tattle to Heaven, Aziraphale would suddenly find himself in a world of trouble.

"And I don't think that dear Theo likes me all that much in the first place," Aziraphale commented rather wearily to Margie. "Meeting Crowley certainly isn't going to help that problem much, is it? It will probably just get worse from here on, I'm afraid."

* * *

Theo awoke in darkness. He had slept through the end of the day and into the night.

He sat up in bed and groggily rubbed his eyes. In one hand he still clutched the cold, silver crucifix. He took a few deep breaths, calmed himself, and sat still, listening.

There were voices coming from below his bedroom. Theo could hear the voices floating up the stairs - they must be coming from the back room, he realized. One voice was Aziraphale's, the other belonged to a stranger. Theo felt every hair on the back of his neck prickle and rise. He sensed the presence of something very dark, and very evil.

Quickly, Theo jumped out of bed and threw on some clothes. The he grabbed the crucifix again and very slowly, very carefully, tiptoed out of his room and across the floor space of the upper level.

Theo paused at the top of the stairs, and listened carefully. He still couldn't see them, but their voices were louder now. They definitely sounded as if they were in the back room, just out of the range of his sight from the very top of the staircase.

"Well, look at you!" the angel was gushing stupidly. "You look more, er, tanned than usual!"

"Yeah, well, I was running around the sub-tropical Andes for a while, and then, you know, being slow-roasted over an open fire Down There for a while, too."

"Oh, you poor thing. Was it bad this time?"

"It could have been worse. I did get out early, after all."

"Whatever for?"

"Because of you, you sneaky old bastard. Hey, since when did you keep a refrigerator in here? Indulging yourself in sweets and pastries at home now, are you? Take this vice of yours much farther and you'll need to punch a new hole in your belt again."

"Because of me?" Aziraphale asked, as if he hadn't even heard anything that the other one had said after.

"I don't know what you've been up to," the strange voice said cheerfully, and Theo could now hear the sound of ice and liquid being poured into glasses and stirred around, "but the guys upstairs, I mean, the guys upstairs Downstairs, have been detecting a massive surge in the amount of holy energy and divine emanations being thrown around this island over the past few days. And what with the Heavenly Chorus set to show up tonight, they just got a bit alarmed. They don't want to lose this city, so they sent me back up."

" 'Lose this city'? Dear boy, you seem to be laboring under an illusion."

"You've been making a bunch of very powerful demons very jittery. What the Heaven have you been up to?"

"Er... Crowley, there's something that I have to tell you."

"If it's about the plants, I told you, I already know. Just give me a couple years to think of a suitable revenge, and then you'll have yours." The sound of glasses clinking together. "Cheers. I was thinking I would cut your throat while you sleep."

"I don't sleep. And that's not one of your more original stunts, I must say," Aziraphale sighed. "Has being down around all that fire boiled your brains? Can't you think of something more exciting than that?"

"I dunno. I don't think I could ever top burning down your entire book collection, and some idiot human already beat me to that."

Theo crept farther down the stairs, clutching the cold crucifix tightly in his sweaty hands. Now he could see the tall figure called Crowley, standing next to the small table in the back room, addressing someone else seated at the table as he spoke. Crowley's back was turned and he was facing away from the stairs, but Theo could see the top of his dark head and the leather jacket and the black jeans he was wearing. Leather! Theo didn't want to think about how many good, innocent cows had been slaughtered to create that jacket. He clenched his jaw with rage. Yes, the stranger definitely smelled like demon.

"So 'fess up, angel," the demon was saying, as he tilted his head backward and sipped his drink. "Even I felt it when I came back... It's, hmm, weird, like your aura around here has been almost doubled, or something. Have you been miracling overtime, or what? That's not fair, you know. It messes with our agreement, and you know I was out of town and indisposed, and--"

"Crowley, it's not that."

"Why won't you look me in the eye when you talk to me?"

"Er..."

"I thought you weren't going to keep big secrets from me." Now the demon sounded grumpy. "Messes up the balance of power, that would." A pause, and then a sigh. "Are you just going to sit there like an idiot, or do you want me to get angry?"

"I don't know if I want to tell you anymore. You're not being very nice today."

"I'm NOT nice, that's the point!"

"Couldn't you at least try to be civil? It is Christmas Eve."

"Listen, angel... "

Theo clenched the crucifix tighter, listening to the demon continue to threaten Aziraphale. Well, it was the idiot angel's fault for letting him into the bookshop in the first place, and Theo had no idea how even a particularly wily demon could have fooled all but the most obtuse of angels into letting him into their home. But, to be fair, Theo could tell that Aziraphale was trying to resist the demon's ruthless interrogation, and was trying to protect Theo himself from being discovered by the demon. Well, that clinched it, then. If Aziraphale wasn't going to get them out of this mess, then it was up to Theo to be the hero and smite the demon.

He had better earn his wings for doing this.

Theo took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. Then he held out the crucifix in front of him, clenched his arm muscles tightly, mentally counted to three, and then launched himself forward.

He charged down the steps, screamed "Demon, be gone!" and whacked the demon with the crucifix, hard, across the back of his leather jacket.

"A-choo!" the demon sneezed.

Then he whirled around, took one look at Theo, and completely forgetting himself, exclaimed "What the HELL?!"

Theo stepped quickly backward, as far away as the cramped little room would allow, but still held out the crucifix in front of him. "I said, demon, be gone!" He waved the crucifix threateningly at the demon.

Crowley sneezed again. "Careful, kid, don't you know that some people are allergic to those things?" Then he turned and glowered at Aziraphale. It was very obvious that he was glowering, even though his eyes were hidden by a pair of opaque shades - it was something about the way that his entire face seemed to darken. "What the Heaven is that thing?" the demon asked, pointing an accusing finger at Theo.

"Crowley," said the angel calmly, "this is Theodore. Theodore, Crowley."

"And what the fuck is a Theodore? Some kind of pet?!"

"Watch your language, dear." Aziraphale took a calm, slow sip of some drink that Theo was absolutely certain angels weren't supposed to partake in. And, he figured, that infernal demon had probably poured it for him. That was the last straw - Theo had seen and heard enough.

"Don't listen to him!" Theo screamed at the idiot angel, thrusting the crucifix toward the demon again. "He's trying to trick you!!"

"Adam Fucking Antichrist," the demon swore, and backed away from Theo again. "I'm going to break out into hives if you keep waving that thing around. Stop it!"

Theo blinked at the demon, confused. He was fairly certain that touching the demon with a holy relic in the first place was supposed to have caused him to burst into flame and melt into a sludgy puddle of demon-goo. The demon seemed annoyed and increasingly upset about the crucifix being shoved into his face, but not fatally so. Theo wondered what could be wrong.

As if picking up on Theo's train of thought, Aziraphale said, "It's not going to hurt him any more, Theo, so please put that thing away. It's expensive," the angel admonished. "And you're being very rude, besides."

Theo gaped at the angel, and his arm holding the crucifix fell limp. "HOW can you be so CALM about this?! That is a real demon over there! Aren't you going to do your job and, and, and--" Theo waved his arms frantically in the air, frustration and disbelief momentarily impairing his ability to form a coherent thought, "--and smite him, or something?!"

"Goodness, no." The angel looked positively affronted at the suggestion.

Crowley plunked himself down in the seat opposite Aziraphale and continued glaring daggers at the angel. "If you had an obviously feral human child hidden up in your attic this whole time, I don't see why you couldn't have told me about it sooner."

"No, Crowley, Theo is new as of this week. And he's not a human anymore - he's an apprentice angel." Crowley's jaw dropped at that remark, but Aziraphale didn't seem to notice, as he turned his attention back to Theo. "If you'd put that relic down, dear, I'd love it if you would join Crowley and I for a drink. There's some soda for you, of course." And there was also suddenly a third empty chair at the table, where a moment before that had been only two, already occupied.

"No WAY!" Theo exploded. "No WAY am I going to sit down next to a demon and listen to you babble like an idiot! I mean, he-llo-o-o-! We are in DANGER here!"

"Absolutely," Crowley agreed, while casually examining his very, very sharp fingernails that were beginning to curve and hook in a way that suspiciously resembled claws. "There's nothing that incites me to violence more than the thought of silencing an obnoxiously loud, annoying voice."

"Really, Crowley," Aziraphale said severely. Then to Theo, "Listen to me, Theo. I don't know what they taught you about dealing with demons Up There, but down here, those of us who have to deal with them every day know a thing or two more than the paper-pushers that were your first teachers. For instance, I've discovered that it's a waste of time to go running around chasing demons and threatening them with a great big flaming sword. Smiting only gets you so far, and they always come back in the end. So," he said with a warm, angelic smile, "down here we do not fight with demons. We share a nip with them instead."

"Hey, kid," said Crowley with a grin that exposed his very, very sharp teeth. "Come on and ssssit down, I won't bite. Unlessssss you give me a good reasssson to."

Theo backed one step up the stairs. "You're crazy," he whispered to Aziraphale.

"Dear me," Aziraphale sighed, "I was afraid this was going to happen. Crowley, stop smiling like that, you're not helping. And you know I dislike it when you do that horrible voice of yours."

"Ssssssorry."

"It's against the rules to consort with demons," Theo said, a bit louder this time.

"It's against the rules to consort with the Enemy," Aziraphale corrected him. "Crowley is not technically an Enemy."

"Oh? But isn't he a demon?"

"Yes, but he's also good, and he's my friend."

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. "Idiot angel, I told you not to say things like that--"

"Oh, come off it, Crowley. I understand your concern with maintaining your reputation, but there's nobody here besides Theo and I. And really, you still aren't helping anything by being your usual abrasive self."

Theo stepped back down into the room again, although hesitantly. The demon had addressed Aziraphale as "idiot angel," which made Theo immediately feel as though there was at least one small, tiny thing that he shared in common with the demon. They both apparently held the same opinion of Aziraphale. "I've still got this crucifix," he growled at the demon.

"Oooooh, I'm so scared."

"You want to sneeze your brains out?"

"Kid, I just came back from a week in Hell's torture chambers. I had my brains popped out of my head, via a variety of interesting methods, more times than I could possibly count. You don't scare me a bit. You annoy me, though, which could in time be very bad for your health."

"Really?" said Aziraphale with apparent interest. "I didn't know they were into brain removal Down There."

"Oh yes. I sent Belial a copy of 'Hannibal' last Christmas and he fell in love with it. He's instituted the brain-eating bit all across the Four Hundred and Fifty-First Circle, which is where all the television chefs go when they die."

Theo stepped forward again, somewhat less hesitantly. "I thought that there were only nine circles," he said.

"Yeah, well," Crowley shrugged, "a couple thousand years ago, Hell got overcrowded, we figured that nine circles just weren't enough, so we've been expanding ever since."

Theo finally reached the empty chair and sat down, sullenly, still glaring at Crowley. "How'd you get in here in the first place?"

"I told you," Aziraphale explained, with only the slightest hint of impatience in his voice, "I invited Crowley in. He's been gone for a while, and I wanted to catch up with him a bit." The angel sounded as if this were so painfully obvious that he couldn't believe that Theo didn't understand it yet.

"And I could ask you the same question," Crowley added, stirring his drink with his finger, which Theo thought to be incredibly rude. "How'd a malicious little brat like you ever get slated for a halo?"

"God chose me," Theo answered haughtily.

Crowley grumbled something to himself in a language that made Theo's skin crawl. Theo huffed angrily and stared at a bottle of cola that had suddenly appeared at his spot courtesy of he-could-guess-who, willing it to turn into wine, thinking that he could at least try to frighten the demon with a casual display of his awesome powers. Unfortunately, the cola seemed determined to stay cola. Aziraphale coughed and tried desperately to change the subject. "So. Crowley. How was Guatemala? I hear it's lovely this time of year."

"It was amazingly sunny. After living in this city for hundreds of years I'd practically forgotten what the sun looked like."

From behind Theo, something mewed. He turned his head and saw Margie, crouched at the corner of the stairs, eyeing the trio at the table with suspicion. Theo felt relieved that at least someone else in this house seemed concerned that there was a demon sitting in the back room, helping himself to Aziraphale's finest liquor.

"Any plans for tonight?" Aziraphale asked casually, pouring himself another helping of something terribly un-angelic.

"I was planning on lying low, staying home, and being bored, what with the Chorus above town and all," Crowley answered, again studying his claws, "but then I heard a rumor that somebody got kicked out of the Chorus this year, so I thought that I would drop by and share a drink with him instead."

Aziraphale sniffed. "You think that just because I'm not singing in the Chorus this year, I plan on spending all of Christmas Eve holed up in my shop feeling sorry for myself and not doing anything good or productive?!" He gulped his drink angrily, and then poured himself another helping. "I'll have you know, Crowley, I fully intend to be out doing good tonight. Miracles, divine inspiration, people being filled with the Holy Spirit, epiphanies, revelations, divine ecstasy, the whole works. And rich people will be inspired to donate mountains of toys to charities for poor children, and all over the city small children will be realizing that they love their parents and their families more than they love the toys that Santa brings, and--"

"Do you hear that?" Crowley asked, suddenly.

The angel paused, and cocked his head, listening. Then he answered gloomily, "Yes, I do."

"What?" Theo blinked, confused. "Hear what?"

"Angels, singing."

"It's the Heavenly Chorus. They've already started tonight's concert."

"You can hear that, in here?" Theo asked. He couldn't hear anything.

"Walls don't matter," Aziraphale answered, even more gloomily. He pushed his drink across the table, away from him, and stood up. "Well, no time to waste, then. I'm sorry that I've dallied so long with you, Crowley, but I appear to be behind schedule already. Theo, shall we go?"

"Go out?" Theo was pleased to hear that the idiot angel finally planned to have a productive night, for once; but, on the other hand, it was bitterly cold outside, and Theo knew about the angel's penchant for walking everywhere. Plus, he had just barely started to drink his cola. It would be a waste if it went flat.

"Wait a minute," said Crowley angrily, also standing up. "You can't just leave me here like this. I mean, what am I supposed to do to amuse myself tonight?! This city is crawling with angels, and with the Chorus overhead and all, I'll be lucky if I so much as step outside without getting struck by holy lightning--"

"That's quite perfect, actually," Aziraphale said cheerfully as he puttered around the back room, gathering up his coat and scarf and hat. "You can stay here and watch over Margie. She hates being left alone."

Crowley gaped at the angel. "I am NOT going to cat-sit for you!"

Margie meowed rather loudly. She apparently did not like the idea either.

"Well, Crowley, I do realize that this somewhat of an imposition on my part, to be asking you to do so. If you'd rather leave, then by all means, go ahead. You may leave. Although this," the angel said, pointing straight into the air, "is the only roof in town that will offer you any protection from being detected by the Chorus. That's something short of a thousand angels directly overhead, and most of them couldn't think of a better way to celebrate Joy and Love and the Christmas Spirit than by turning an errant demon into a pile of ashes. If I know the Chorus director at all - and I do - he won't interrupt his concert for anything except the chance to righteously smite a servant of the Adversary. So please, Crowley, by all means, do step outside. And farewell, old friend. It's been nice knowing you."

Crowley stood, still gaping at the angel in disbelief. He seemed at a complete loss for words.

"I take it you'll stay with Margie, then?" The angel finished tying his scarf around his neck and pulled Theo out of the back room, toward the front of the shop. "Cheerio!" he called over his shoulder. "We'll be back before sunup! There is a tremendously fun crossword puzzle in today's paper to entertain yourself with, and there's tofu in the fridge if you get the munchies."

Aziraphale opened the front door, and he and Theo stepped out into the cold night air.

The angel closed the door behind them, turned the key, and then paused, straightening out his hat and scarf. "And that," he said triumphantly, "is how we deal with a demon. It's important to keep them otherwise occupied during the major holy days."

"Ah," said Theo, and for once, he was actually impressed.

He then blinked for a moment, and stared. There was a beautiful, gleaming black, antique Bentley parked at the curb in front of the bookshop.

Theo stared at the car for a moment, then thought, _Nah, it must belong to the neighbors..._ By then Aziraphale, who had hardly given the gorgeous, ancient car a second glance, had already started down the sidewalk. Theo scrambled to catch up.

As the two of them started walking away, Theo could just barely hear the sweet singing of an unseen angelic chorus, somewhere overhead.

* * *

True to what Aziraphale had said, they actually were out all night. The angel started with a list of wealthy men and women who he felt could be inspired to donate toys and goods to children's charities that night; he let Theo try his hand at a few of them, but Theo had a harder time being persuasive, and in the end, he ended up defaulting to the argument that such an act of goodwill would certainly look wonderful to the press in the highly publicized announcement of said deed come Christmas morning. Aziraphale seemed to disapprove of charity being used as a publicity stunt, but Theo couldn't see the difference if the poor kids ended up getting their toys just the same in the end.

Then they made a round at the hospitals around the city, filling in what Aziraphale called the "pre-requisite miraculous Christmas Eve healings." One of the patients that Theo touched ended up flatlining for almost a minute before Aziraphale wearily corrected Theo's math equations.

By the time that they were finished with the hospitals, they had missed most of the night's church services, but Aziraphale felt that they could still hop around the city sprinkling a bit of divine ecstasy here and there. This time, he wouldn't even let Theo try his hand at any of it. "Invoking the Holy Spirit is highly skilled work," the angel said severely when he ordered Theo to just hang back and watch. "If you're not careful, you could end up making some of these poor humans babble in tongues for days on end. That was all well and good in the old days, but nowadays they just get stuck in a straight jacket and bundled off to some asylum, the poor dears."

They visited a priest whose faith was wavering, a family torn apart by internal strife, and several others. They criss-crossed the city on foot, by bus as late as the busses would run, by cab even though Aziraphale thought it unfair that the cab drivers didn't have the night off, and by underground. The night was cold and the air chill, and overhead Theo could constantly hear, very faintly, the song of a Chorus of a thousand angels. Theo couldn't tell for sure what they were singing, but the melody didn't sound all that--

"It's not all that compelling," he finally said to Aziraphale, as the two of them walked along through the snowy sidewalks.

"Excuse me?"

"The Heavenly Chorus. I can't hear it very well, but it sounds like boring old church music. It's no wonder you told me that humans often don't hear them at all. This style is a bit out-dated, isn't it?"

Aziraphale gaped at him. Then he shook his head, seemed to recover himself, and said quite calmly, "Humans often don't hear the Chorus anymore because most humans don't believe in angels anymore. That's what I said before, Theo."

"But is that really true? I mean, it sounds like they're not even making an effort to get humans to hear them. If those angels want humans to believe in them and to listen to their Christmas choral concerts, well, they should probably make an effort to, you know, stay current. Connect with the human audience, and all that. Have you guys thought of trying 'Jingle Bells' or 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer'? People love those songs. I bet you could get a whole bunch of humans to hear you if you would just try singing something that they know and love to hear."

"But those songs are, er... secular, aren't they?"

"Well, sure, but it seems like a good idea to start with something secular, right? That way you could people of all sorts of different beliefs to start listening in when you angels sing. Then, you know, bust out the 'It Came Upon a Midnight Clear' and 'Silent Night' and all, and bam! You've got them hooked on Jesus."

"Oh, no," said Aziraphale sadly. "I know the director, and he doesn't like postmodern songs like 'Silent Night'."

"Postmodern?! It's well over a hundred and fifty years old!"

"Theo," Aziraphale said with a sigh. "You have a good idea. That really is a good idea. And now we shall never speak of it again."

"Why not?!"

"Because other angels don't think that way, and you can try to persuade them to take a different perspective on things, you can try for six thousand years, and it won't get you anywhere in the end." Aziraphale's eyes suddenly looked very, very sad. "And you're new at all this, and in a rather perilous position, without even your wings yet. Just please, don't try to bring this up with any other angels, all right? Trust me on this one, Theo. Sometimes it's safer not to try to rock the boat."

* * *

When morning dawned, they returned to the bookshop. The Chorus was gone, their concert finished for the year. The skies were clear and slowly changing from deepest black to palest blue. Theo had long ago lost all feeling in his fingers and toes. It was Christmas, he finally realized. And it would be his first Christmas spent away from his family. As Aziraphale turned his key and pushed the front door of the shop open, Theo suddenly found himself overwhelmed with a sudden, unexpected wave of grief.

Aziraphale was about to step inside when he paused, turned his head, and suddenly reached out and grasped Theo's hand in his. "Are you all right?"

Theo pulled his hand away quickly. Maybe a bit more quickly than he'd meant to, but he really couldn't help that now. " 'M fine," he mumbled.

"Glad to hear that somebody's fine and having a jolly good time," came Crowley's voice from within the dark bookshop. Theo and Aziraphale entered and saw him sitting unconcerned behind the main counter with the cash register on it, rifling casually through several open drawers behind the counter.

"Crowley," said Aziraphale testily, "Just because you're bored doesn't give you an excuse to rummage through my personal--"

"Just bored, you say? Just bored?! You practically held me prisoner inside this place! And anyways, you leave me alone all night in the house of my Enemy and then you expect me to NOT go snooping around?! Good grief, angel. I thought you knew me better than that."

"I do," said Aziraphale calmly as he walked over to Crowley and peered down at him. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Are those burn marks on your fingertips?"

"You know perfectly well. You set traps around certain places, and certain objects, as if... as if... as if you had planned this whole thing out from the beginning, you bastard."

"Not from the Beginning, no. But I did have this all planned out since I received your postcard yesterday. Nice of you to send advance warning."

Crowley stood up, somewhat angrily. "Merry Christmas, angel. You too, brat. I haven't seen the bloody stupid cat all night, I think she's hiding upstairs in the kid's room. Move it, angel, can't you see I'm trying to leave?"

"I protected you," Aziraphale said somewhat icily, standing just so that he blocked Crowley from getting out from behind the counter. "I knew I had to find a way to keep you safe from being noticed by the Chorus, and I did. A 'thank you' is certainly called for, don't you think?"

"Fine. Thanks for trapping me here all night, when I could have been out having fun."

"And getting yourself incinerated."

Crowley sighed. "You know I hate cats."

"Cats specifically, or just furry things in general? Because I was never quite clear on that point."

Instead of answering that, Crowley looked over Aziraphale's shoulder and straight at Theo. "Hey, kid. Promise me you won't let this self-righteous prick get away with not getting you any Christmas presents, all right?"

Theo crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at the demon. "Did you get either of us Christmas presents?"

"No. It's my job to be mean and make people miserable."

"Some friend you are."

Crowley laughed and turned back to Aziraphale. "I like this kid. He's got some of his priorities straight. Angel, will you let me go now?"

"Fine." Aziraphale stood aside. "I must admit, however, that I still feel... miffed... about your ingratitude."

"Happy Hanukkah to you, too." Crowley pulled his leather jacket off the coat rack by the door where he had hung it, winced as his burnt fingers fiddled with the zipper, and then opened the front door. Just as he was about to step out, he paused and turned his head, again fixing his gaze (from behind his sunglasses) straight onto Theo. "One more thing, kid. If you ever feel that you want to try your hand at a real fun job, just give me a call, all right? The angel has my number; you can get it from him."

Crowley left, slamming the door shut behind him. A moment later, Theo heard the rumbling of a powerful engine, glanced out the front window, and saw the antique black car pulling away, the demon in the driver's seat.

He turned back to Aziraphale, who was muttering to himself and trying to straighten up the mess that Crowley had left behind the counter. "What did he mean by that last bit?" Theo asked.

"That was an invitation," Aziraphale said lightly. "From here on in he's probably going to be trying to convince you to Fall."

Theo was horrified. "Oh, no!"

"It's not very much of a problem, Theo. He's been trying that sales pitch on me for the past six thousand years, in a variety of ways."

"But doesn't it ever, like, get on your nerves? Or scare you?"

"Never." Aziraphale glanced up from behind the counter, a decidedly un-angelic gleam sparkling in his unsettlingly clear blue eyes. "Watching that demon fail again and again is half the fun."

* * *

Continued. 


	7. Chapter 06

Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended upsomehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!

* * *

Ordinary Miracles

by Nenena

* * *

Chapter 06

Bagdasarian, Adam. 2002. First French Kiss and Other Traumas. Farrar Straus Giroux, New York. PZ7.B14018 Fi

* * *

They spent Christmas day at home, enjoying a day of rest and peace and quiet. Theo thought at first that he would be bored, but the hectic schedule of the last week was finally catching up with him, and he spent most of the afternoon drifting in and out of a peaceful, restful nap.

When Theo ventured back down into the bookshop the next day, he found the angel busily re-shelving books. "What are you doing all that for?" he asked, watching curiously, as Aziraphale seemed intent on completely re-arranging his entire collection as much as he could.

"I like to de-alphabetize the shelves every now and then," the angel answered cheerfully. "It discourages customers from finding the books that they want to buy. And I seem to get a real kick out of re-alphabetizing the whole lot again, too." The angel paused with his arms full of books and peered at Theo for a moment. "I thought you would sleep the whole day through today. Since you're up, should we go out and try again with this miracle business?"

"Sure. Fine. I can go out," Theo agreed amiably enough.

After distracting Margie with food and making a quick escape, the two of them went back out on the town. "It's going to be different from now on," Aziraphale told Theo, "because Crowley's back at work. We have to look for wiles, and we have to thwart. On top of all the other daily duties, mind you. And we simply must remember to schedule regular luncheons and outings with him. For sociable purposes, of course."

Crowley's wiles, as it turned out, were not all that difficult to spot. There was the buggered traffic light downtown, the tangled phone wires uptown, and in midtown, the marriage counselor who thought that it would more interesting to try to break couples up rather than convince them to get back together. There was also the television executive that greenlighted three new reality television shows, and the music industry executive who signed on a new boy band that was sure to do its part to destroy fine music and human civilization as the world knew it. There was also, at last, the amateur herb specialist who finally decided that he would be doing the world good by mass-marketing his proven new manhood-enlarging formula via unsolicited electronic mail.

For once, Theo found that he was good at something. He could sense the demon's distinctive fingerprints on a fiasco from several miles away. "He's a bloody genius," Theo said at the end of the day.

"Good heavens, do you mean Crowley?"

"I think he's doing a better job of it than we are, at least. I mean, his tricks affect a whole bunch of people at once, and makes them miserable and mean to each other. But when you do miracles, it only affects one person at a time, and half the time they aren't even grateful, and don't ever even know that an angel intervened on their behalf, and don't even believe in angels in the first place, and just go on living their small-minded, secular lives without being inspired at all to do more good or to be a better person."

Aziraphale tsked. "The piano woman was a church-goer."

Theo decided to leave it at that.

* * *

Over the next few days, life settled back into its routine, demon or no demon. Theo was taken out every day and tried, very hard, to perform some decent miracles. They all backfired on him. Except for the one about turning water into wine - that, apparently, he could do, although only occasionally, and he only ever tried it at home in the bookshop. Aziraphale would have pointed out that he never needed to turn water into wine during the course of his daily duties that actually counted as doing good for people, but he didn't want to crush Theo's feelings.

Still, it was becoming painfully obvious to all parties involved - including Theo himself - that something was just not clicking for him.

The day before New Year's, they met Crowley for lunch at the Ritz.

Theo sat across the table from Crowley, dressed in his Sunday best (or rather, Aziraphale's idea of what a young boy should wear as his Sunday best), and glared at the demon as he laughed and nearly choked on his own tongue and asked incredulously, "You said you're a WHAT now?!"

"Vegan."

"Oh, that's precious." He smirked at Aziraphale. "Are you going to let that granola-cruncher get away with this?"

"Crowley, his beliefs are perfectly valid."

"Yeah, right. Say it like you mean it, angel."

"Let's go away," Theo pleaded to Aziraphale. "He's awful. I don't want to eat at the same table with him. He makes me sick."

"What?" asked Crowley innocently. "I was just planning on ordering their biggest steak, and maybe a glass of cow's blood to drink. Would that make you feel better?"

"Ha! This restaurant doesn't sell cow's blood."

"Just because they don't sell it..."

Aziraphale sensed the distinct tingling in the back of his neck, which signaled that Crowley was about to conjure up something in his hand. And Aziraphale could guess instantly what Crowley was about to be holding a glass full of; at that moment, he had had enough. "I'm going to get up and leave unless you two promise me that you'll behave yourselves in public," he hissed at them both.

"I'm not going to sit here and listen to the treacherous filth spewing from this demon's mouth," Theo huffed angrily, while at the same time Crowley said, "You know I'm not supposed to behave myself, that's the point."

"Crowley..."

"I'm thinking of ordering milk to drink," Crowley said casually. Aziraphale knew that Crowley normally wouldn't be caught dead ordering something as prosaic as milk; still, he would probably do it, and drink it, too, just to disgust Theo. Well, at least it was a step up from cow's blood.

"The bill's on me this time," Aziraphale said quickly.

"Well, then." Crowley seemed to perk up when he heard that. "I think I'll order a bottle of their most expensive wine instead."

Aziraphale silently breathed a sigh of relief. Crisis averted, for the time being.

The rest of the meal passed beneath a thin layer of civility. Aziraphale did his best to engage Crowley in conversation as much as he could; this he did at the expense of paying any attention to Theo, who chewed his salad stubbornly and glared daggers at the demon throughout the entire meal.

At the end of the meal, Crowley offered them a ride home, but Theo angrily threw on his coat and snarled, "We'll walk, thank you very much." Crowley didn't even look to Aziraphale for a second opinion; he merely shrugged and said, "Fine, suit yourself."

When Theo and Aziraphale left the Ritz, Theo was prickling with anger. "How can you stand him?" he huffed at Aziraphale. "How can you STAND him?! He's horrible! He spent thirty minutes rambling about the joys watching the drug cartels oppress the peasants in Columbia and you just sat there and tsked at him!! TSKED!! As if that would do any good! If you ask me, you should be doing your job and giving that demon a proper smiting--"

"Theodore! Who exactly are you to be telling me how to do this job?"

Theo was momentarily taken aback. Something flashed in the angel's eyes that he had never seen before - something steely, and perhaps a little bit angry. Theo looked down at his feet as they walked home, but nevertheless, still pouted. "He ordered filet mignon. I had to sit there and watch him eat filet mignon."

"Nobody was forcing you to watch him eat."

"How could I not watch him eat?! He was eating the flesh of an innocent creature!"

"Aha. And therein lies your failure." Aziraphale's voice was already lilting into lecture mode. "The way that Crowley works is that he gets humans to inflict misery upon themselves. And you played right into his hands - had to watch him eat, indeed. There were plenty of other things to look at or do in that restaurant. And yet, you still focused every bit of your attention on him."

They walked on in silence. Theo could feel his checks turning deeper and deeper shades of red, and it wasn't just from the cold.

That night, New Year's Eve, while other people were out partying in the streets, Aziraphale stayed in and read the Bible and prayed, while Theo insisted on watching all the big countdowns on television. This at first posed a problem because Aziraphale did not have a television; but a quick miracle later, there was an old, dusty, black-and-white set up on the second story where Theo was staying. Aziraphale felt it only appropriate that if he should own a television, it would by default by old and dusty and somewhat unreliable, just like every other appliance he had ever owned (save for his computer, and the quite modern cash register in the shop, which was only dusty through lack of use).

Theo sat in front of the television, watching happy, beautiful people counting down the minutes until the new year. _ No good at miracles, no good at dealing with demons, no good at anything_, he thought of himself, growing more and more miserable by the minute. He had never felt more alone, and more hopelessly frustrated, ever in his short life. He was literally a world away from his family, whom he hadn't seen since death; his angel was an addle-brained fool who couldn't teach worth dirt and couldn't seem to connect with him at all; and the demon alternatively horrified, frightened, and disgusted him. Even the blasted cat seemed to be avoiding him lately, since she by default seemed to prefer strictly angelic company.

_It's almost been two weeks_, thought Theo as he crawled into bed early the next morning. _At this rate, I'll never earn my wings._

Stewing in his own existential angst, Theo fell asleep.

* * *

He slept late the next morning, and awoke to the smell of cinnamon and rising dough.

_But there's no kitchen in this place,_ he thought as he groggily dressed and stumbled down the stairs.

There was still not a kitchen, at least not officially. But there was a narrow oven with a small range on top tucked into a corner of the back room, next to the small refrigerator. Aziraphale was in the back, fussing with a stack of messy bowls in the sink. He saw Theo, blinked with surprise, and immediately asked, "Does yeast count?"

"What?"

"For a vegan. Does yeast count as, er, not-vegan? Because they are, you know, they are all God's creatures, but, er, I'm not exactly sure if they're animal or vegetable or mineral, but I didn't want to wake you up to ask, that would just have been so awfully rude, and--"

"What are you doing?"

"Cooking," answered the angel cheerfully. "Since it was a holiday, I thought I would try my hand at something nice for breakfast."

"Have you ever...?"

Aziraphale waved a dough-covered spoon vaguely. "I used to do it all the time, in the first thousand years or so. Then I figured that I agreed with Crowley when he said that it was more enjoyable to have other people cook and serve and do all the work for you. But I suppose I've forgotten how gratifying it is to roll up your sleeves and just do it yourself, and I--"

"What's in the oven?"

"Bread. I think. It should turn out to be bread, hopefully. And there's cinnamon and nuts and raisins and all sorts of things in the dough. No cream or anything of bovine origin, I assure you. And no meat."

Theo sat down at the small table and eyed the angel suspiciously. "Why?"

"I told you, dear, it's because it's a holiday."

"And you were just, what, suddenly seized by the New Year Spirit, is that it?"

"There's no need to..." Aziraphale's voice trailed off, and he turned away from Theo, working on furiously scrubbing a sticky bowl beneath the pouring faucet in the sink. "I just thought that maybe it would be something nice to cheer you up, that's all."

Margie suddenly appeared out of nowhere, meowed loudly, and rubbed herself against Theo's feet. Theo ignored her, and stared at the angel. Aziraphale, for his part, kept his gaze focused squarely on the bowl that he was scrubbing down in the sink, his cheeks beginning to turn an absolutely fascinating shade of red.

Finally Theo said, "Baking bread isn't going to help me perform any decent miracles, you know."

"Theo--"

"It's been two weeks already! We're halfway through the trial period and I haven't been able to do anything right yet! Would you stop dancing around the issue and just TALK to me about it? Why can't you tell me what I'm doing wrong?! I don't need some dotty old grandfather figure who bakes bread for me. I need a TEACHER who can tell me how to do what I need to do!"

"Teaching, dear boy, is exactly what I've been trying to do this whole time." Still not looking at Theo; scrubbing furiously.

"Oh, so now it's all my fault?"

"I never said such a thing."

"Than what was 'exactly what I've been doing this whole time' supposed to mean?"

Aziraphale tsked under his breath. "Sometimes talking to you is like talking to a brick wall."

"You mean, trying to instruct me is like trying to instruct a brick wall to make miracles. Right? Why not just come out and say it?"

Again, that tsk. Slightly louder this time. "That isn't at all what I meant. You should stop being so defensive. If I had meant that, I would have said that."

"I'm going back to bed," Theo grumped. "I knew there was no point in getting up this morning."

"Theo, please--"

But he was already halfway up the stairs. A moment later, Aziraphale heard the bedroom door slam shut in the level above.

* * *

Aziraphale surprised himself at how grateful he suddenly felt when Crowley showed up at the bookshop an hour later, champagne bottles in hand.

"I see the cat, but where's the brat?" he asked suspiciously, peering around the back room as he sat down and uncorked the first champagne bottle.

"Upstairs, sleeping. So please keep your voice down."

"Sleeping still? Don't tell me that the party animal was out later than I was last night."

"It's not that," Aziraphale said miserably as he sliced up a loaf of suspiciously lumpy sweet bread that happened to be cooling on the table. The bread, like everything else that happened to exist within the internal space of Aziraphale's bookshop, had already begun to accumulate a layer of dust.

Crowley stared at the loaf of bread as if he halfway suspected that it would try to eat him. "Which bakery were you shopping at, and what sort of discount did you get for picking up such a reject?"

"Crowley, I baked this."

"You did not. You haven't baked anything in thousands of years."

"I did too bake. This morning."

"Okay, angel. Right. Sure you did." Crowley thought it best, at the moment, to just encourage Aziraphale's little white lie, rather than argue with him about it. Lying was definitely a habit that Crowley hoped he could push the angel further into.

"Try it," the angel pleaded, "You'll like it, I'm sure."

Crowley did get up the courage to nibble a bit of the slice Aziraphale offered him; he made a face. "It tastes like holy manna."

"Really?" Aziraphale seemed pleased to hear that. He pushed the loaf aside then, sat down across from Crowley, and helped himself to a glass of champagne. "Happy New Years to you, then."

"Likewise." Crowley drained his glass, which really wasn't the proper way to drink champagne, but he didn't care. It was already the wrong time of day anyway, so he figured he might as well break all the rules at once. "So why's the kid upstairs pouting?"

"I think it's because I tried to bake for him this morning. He seemed upset about that. I don't see why; I was just trying to do something nice for him. Do you think that yeast counts as living creatures, for vegans?"

"Somehow, angel, I don't think he was upset about the bread."

"It's all - It's all --" Aziraphale stuttered, which was horribly uncommon for him, and wrung his hands nervously, which was becoming a more and more common gesture. "It's all so confusing! I feel like I'm doing everything wrong with him. I don't understand how Heaven could leave me without an apprentice for six thousand years and then decide that now is a good time to stick me with one. I don't have the first clue about what I should be doing!"

Crowley leaned back in his seat and was quiet for a moment, his face unreadable. It was usually unreadable, due to the sunglasses, but at this particular moment, the demon seemed even more obtuse than usual. Then he said, "Oh come on, angel, I thought you were smart enough to figure it out."

"Oh, so now I'm a fool for not having made every right step with the strange little boy right from the start?!" the angel huffed. "I'll have you know, Crowley, that building relationships with children is a very difficult, delicate matter--"

"No, I wasn't talking about that," Crowley said dismissively. "I know, angel, I know, kids are like demons. Can't stand the little buggers myself. Don't see how Theo is any different. But I meant the other question - why they'd choose now, of all times, and you, of all teachers, to be assigned to that boy."

"Metatron told me that because I had never taken an apprentice before, it was only fair that I do so now. And surely you'd agree that it's fair. I have to do my share of the duty."

"Yes, angel, but why in all of these six thousand years have you never, not once, ever taken on an apprentice before?"

"Er..." Aziraphale paused, and then lowered his gaze, staring down at his hands folded on the table. "It's that... You see... Ah... They just, er, must have just skipped over my name every time that it came up on the master list. Completely by accident, of course. Bureaucratic oversight. Happens all the time with these things, you know, and it's very unfortunate, but--"

"Don't tell me that you honestly believe that."

Aziraphale glanced up at Crowley sharply. "Excuse me?! They told me that's what happened."

"Still sounds like a load of bull to me."

"Angels do not lie, Crowley," Aziraphale said, icily. "Especially not to other angels."

"Oh, really, now." Crowley leaned back in his seat and stretched his arms above his neck, his joints popping in a pleasant, satisfyingly disgusting way. "I've seen you lie to other angels, Aziraphale. And I wouldn't put it past them to do the same to you."

"You must not think very much of me, then."

"No, I just don't think much of other angels." In any other context that might have been a compliment, but hearing it come from Crowley, Aziraphale still felt insulted. The demon continued, "And look at Theo. I mean, he's sort of... He's, ah... How shall I put this... He doesn't exactly strike one as having much of a, uh, angelic essence, shall we say?"

"Well of course, he's not an angel yet."

"Yes, but I still can't help but wonder why he was ever chosen to become an angel in the first place."

Aziraphale sighed, and looked down at his hands again. His glass of champagne bubbled and fizzed, un-drunk and forgotten, on the table in front of him. "I've often wondered that myself, Crowley. But, you must understand, we angels don't ever actually make those decisions. If Theo was chosen, then he was chosen because God himself must have seen something in him... Something that I, with my regrettable limitations, have yet to see." He turned his head and gave Crowley a lukewarm smile. "Ineffable, right?"

"Oh, sure, ineffable. But still, if I were an angel up in Heaven," Crowley said without a trace of irony in his voice, "and someone told me that God had chosen that boy to become an angel, well, I'd be shitting bricks." Aziraphale colored at that, but Crowley apparently didn't notice. "You know what I think of other angels, Aziraphale, and I know that you agree with what I think about other angels, even though you've got your flaming sword stuck so far up your non-existent derrière that you'd never admit that you agree with what I think about other angels, and the truth of the matter is, what it all comes down to is, they're pricks. Angels are nothing but a bunch of goody-goody, holier-than-thou, self-righteous, snobbish pricks. And I'd bet my horns and pointy tail that some angels Upstairs were positively displeased when they were told that such an abominable brat as Theo was slotted to become one of them."

"But you don't have horns or a pointy tail--"

"I was trying to make a folksy expression."

"Crowley..."

"Don't you get it?!" Crowley suddenly blurted out. "They're trying to set you up for failure!"

Aziraphale stared at him, silent and shocked. Crowley could see the realization - and the hurt - beginning to creep into the angel's expression. But Aziraphale still managed to ask, calmly and softly, "Crowley, what in Heaven's name are you talking about?"

"This. Is. Your. Punishment. Your punishment for everything that happened last year, everything about the Armageddon that wasn't. I already had mine, and now it's your turn. Only your superiors are angels, so of course they're to la-di-da-di-peaceful-kind-and-good to actually come out and say that they're punishing you, so they have to go about being sneaky and underhanded about it, the bastards. But think about it, Aziraphale, really think. You told me yourself, the Metatron wasn't reading your reports, and of all the field workers to be assigned to Earth, you're the only one that's been stuck down here on pretty much a permanent basis. Add in the fact that they've never assigned you an apprentice, that they keep skipping over your name on their master list or whatever - and then, well duh, you get it, don't you? They haven't assigned you an apprentice before because they don't think that you'd do a good job with one. In fact, they keep you stuck down here probably because they'd rather not have you Up There, with the rest of them. They don't bother with your reports anymore because they just want to keep you out of their hair, out of their sight, out of their minds. And they--"

Aziraphale moved so fast that Crowley never even saw it coming. In one swift motion he stood up, stepped over toward the demon, swung back his hand, and slapped Crowley across the face. Hard.

Crowley's shades went flying across the room.

Crowley stared up at the angel, stunned. Aziraphale was trembling, literally shaking with rage. Normally, Crowley would have been elated to realize that after all these years, he had finally managed to incite Aziraphale into an act of furious violence. He just wished that this particular angel's violence hadn't been directed so painfully at himself.

"I don't know which makes me angrier," Aziraphale said coldly, glaring down at the demon with an expression that would have made the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah turn their faces fearfully toward the sky searching for the fire and lightning that was about to rain down upon them. "You insinuating that I am somehow incompetent, perhaps that I could let be. After all these years I've certainly gotten used to the insults coming from you. But for you, demon, to suggest that the good angels of Heaven themselves would be ensnared by such petty, spiteful, evil emotions is--"

"--the truth."

"Crowley! Do you want to get yourself smited?!"

"I'm telling you this because you need to be told! Somebody has to open up your eyes, you bloody stupid angel! Heaven doesn't particularly like you, Heaven needs to punish you for what you've done last year, and along comes with horridly awful would-be angel that Heaven surely doesn't want to actually succeed in becoming an angel, and voila! The solution to all of Heaven's problems instantly presents itself. So they assign the boy Theo to you as an apprentice. And they do so fully entertaining the expectation that you'll fail in your duties, Theo won't get to become an angel, and they'll finally have an excuse to engage in some official angelic discipline against you. That's all that I'm trying to say. You haven't ever had an apprentice before because somebody Upstairs certainly does think that you're incompetent, and the only reason that you have this particular apprentice now is because somebody Upstairs is absolutely convinced that you're incompetent." Suddenly there was a new pair of shades resting on Crowley's nose, hiding his eyes. "It's like I said before. They're setting you both up for failure." He stood up from his chair, glanced over Aziraphale's shoulder, and said, "Oh, hello, didn't see you there."

Aziraphale whirled.

Theo was sitting at the top of the steps behind him, his face a black thundercloud.

"Theo," Aziraphale gasped out, the name escaping his lips in one horrified outward hiss of air. "How much did you--?"

"I heard enough."

"Figures," Crowley said as he shrugged on his coat and turned away from them both. "That's the way it is, is all I'm saying. Now all you two have to do is prove all of them wrong."

He left. Aziraphale didn't even turn around to watch him leave or to say goodbye. Aziraphale didn't even notice that Crowley had actually left both bottles of champagne behind on the table. His eyes were transfixed by Theo's gaze.

The two stared at each other for a long, long time.

Then Theo finally said, "I knew it. I knew that there was a reason that I was stuck with a useless angel like you."

He stood up, turned, and stomped back into his bedroom.

* * *

Theo slammed the door behind him, sniffled, and then flopped himself down across his bed. He buried his face in his pillow and held very, very still. He breathed in and out deeply, trying to get a grip on things.

The naked look of hurt that had crossed Aziraphale's face when Theo had said what he had said to him... That had been horrible to watch, but yet, at the same time, strangely satisfying. That feeling of sick satisfaction, knowing that you've said exactly the right thing to stick the most poisonous barb through another person's heart - Theo wondered if that was the sort of good feeling that demons like Crowley thrived on.

With that thought, he began to weep.

* * *

Theo dozed against his tear-soaked pillow. Sometime later, he drifted back into awareness when he heard his bedroom door open and shut, slowly. The bed creaked as somebody sat down on it, settling himself beside Theo. A warm, soft hand brushed the hair back from his brow.

"Theo...?"

" 'M awake."

"How do you feel? Are you all right?"

Theo refused to look up, to meet the angel's gaze. But still, he told his pillow, "I'm sorry." The angel said nothing, so Theo continued. "I'm sorry about what I said, you know. I didn't mean it."

"Theo..." The angel sighed. "Yes, what you said to me then was hurtful and wrong, that is true. But it is a far worse sin for any person to be dishonest with their own feelings, to lie to themselves. You did mean it, and I know that you meant it. Please do not try to tell me otherwise."

Theo squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his pillow. "Then what am I supposed to say?" he asked, his voice muffled by layers of feathers and cloth.

"Please look at me when you're talking to me. I'm getting old, and my hearing isn't what it used to be." Theo could hear the smile behind the angel's words. "Goodness, I could hardly understand a word that you just said!"

Theo sat up, groaned, and shifted himself until he was sitting next to Aziraphale. But he still would not meet the angel's gaze. He studied his lap and repeated sullenly, "Then what am I supposed to say?"

"I wouldn't know. It's a tricky business, this whole etiquette thing." Aziraphale waved his hand, as if pushing the topic aside. "Tell you what. Why don't you give me another chance?"

"A what?"

"Just give me another chance. I'm not sure what I have to prove to you or to show you. I think that you and I are just operating from very different expectations of how angels should do their jobs. But maybe, if we give ourselves time, we can come to some sort of, ah, mutual understanding?"

Theo thought about this for a moment, then said, "Um."

Aziraphale waited patiently for more to come. When nothing did, he asked, "Um what?"

"Um, it felt good. It felt good, saying something so mean."

"Well, of course it did," Aziraphale said dismissively. "Being mean usually does feel good, in some way. That's why humans tend to do it so often."

Now Theo finally did look up to meet the angel's gaze, and there was something fearful in his eyes. "But isn't that awful? If I'm supposed to be an angel and all, how can I just sit here and think, 'well, that felt good, just better not ever do it again'?"

"Theo, most field workers slip up every now and then. You must remember that you're not perfect. You can never be perfect. Only God is true perfection," Aziraphale lectured.

"Then how am I supposed to know if I'm gonna Fall or not?"

"Yes, well, that's a tricky bit, too."

Theo frowned poutily. "If you're trying to be a helpful angel this time around, so far, you're not doing a very good job of it."

"Tell you what," the angel said gently. "There's a place that I like to go when I'm feeling worried or upset. It's a lovely little church where you can always pray in peace. Would you like to pay a visit there?"

* * *

They sat side by side on a pew, gazing up at the stained-glass windows. There were angels in white robes above and shepherds in brown robes below; wise kings, camels and donkeys, a manger, and Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus with halos around their heads.

The stained-glass angels had halos, too.

Theo pondered this. "Do you have a halo?" he finally asked Aziraphale.

"Only sometimes. Like when I've eaten something bad."

"Ah." Theo decided not to pursue that particular train of thought any further. And then, "When you pray, can you, um... Can you, like, talk directly to God?"

"Sometimes." Aziraphale folded his hands in his lap. "God is always available for a bit of quick conversation, you understand. But it's often human hearts, and sometimes angel hearts, that don't know how to properly quiet down and listen for Him. That, and you might as well not even bother asking Him any of the tough questions. He doesn't give out any of the big answers. He told us that it would be too easy, that way."

"So you don't know the meaning of life or why the universe was created or anything like that?"

"No."

"Oh." Theo felt somewhat disappointed. "But don't you ever wonder?"

Aziraphale smiled at him. "I prefer not to think about such things."

Theo snorted. "Huh. Not me. I'd rather ask the big questions than go about life in a state of ignorance."

"Hmm." The corners of Aziraphale's eyes crinkled with amusement. "You know who that reminds me of?"

"Who?"

"Crowley."

"Oh, please." Theo rolled his eyes.

They sat quietly for another moment, then Aziraphale stood up and said, "Pardon me for a moment, but I'd like to go have a word with the priest. Would you mind waiting here, Theo? It will only take a moment."

"Fine. Whatever."

The angel picked up his cap and coat, and wandered off. Theo sat on the edge of the pew, swinging his legs back and forth, his eyes wandering across half a dozen panels of stained glass windows.

Sometime later, somebody else came and suddenly flounced down on the pew beside him. "You don't think they're really listening to us, do you?" she asked.

Theo turned his head and blinked. It was a girl. She was frowning up at the stained glass windows, almost angrily. "Who do you mean?" he asked her.

"God and Jesus and Mary and the angels and stuff. You don't think they're listening to us, do you?" She turned her large, dark eyes toward him. "I saw the way you were glaring at baby Jesus up there."

Theo folded his hands in his lap. "Sometimes they listen," he echoed Aziraphale.

The girl picked absent-mindedly at the cuff of one of the sleeves of her knit black sweater. She looked as though she were trying to unravel it. " 'Sometimes' doesn't seem good enough to me," she proclaimed airily. "I mean, if God's all-powerful and stuff, then why only pay attention just sometimes?"

Theo tried not to stare at the cuff of her sleeve. He had never had a conversation like this with a complete stranger before. And suddenly, he was seized by a terribly brilliant idea. "Is something troubling you?" he asked, trying to sound as mature and concerned and sensitive and sympathetic as he possibly could.

She waved her hands vaguely. Theo saw that her fingernails were painted black. "Everything," she sighed dramatically. And then, she echoed the famous refrain of angst-ridden pre-teen sufferers everywhere: "My life sucks."

Theo tried as inconspicuously as possible to subtly slide himself closer toward her. "Sucks like how?"

"Just name a problem, and I've got it," she said, her tone of voice almost bragging. Then she began ticking off her sufferings on her fingertips. "Grandma died, parents are divorcing, pop's taking the cat with him, my brother's a jerk, we're moving, my mum won't let me pierce my tongue, my pop won't let me see Bill anymore, my math teacher's out to get me, I got my purse stolen last week, I lost my allowance for fighting with my mum, and I'm broke."

"That sucks," Theo agreed with an authoritative nod of his head.

"Yeah, sucks," she echoed, her face a picture of perfect needful misery that barely, just barely, masked her obvious enjoyment at being the subject of so much incorrigible angst.

Some people, Theo knew, seemed to enjoy wallowing in their own depression. They were usually, in his experience, the type of people that wore lots of heavy, dark-colored eye shadow above their eyes. Theo didn't have to scrutinize the girl very closely to see that she was definitely wearing dark eye shadow above her eyes.

"Well," said Theo carefully, "maybe I can help."

"I thought so too," she said slyly. She licked her dark purple lips. "You busy right now?"

Theo was caught off guard by that. "Uh, what?"

"Busy right now? There's a pool bar down--"

"Um, I'm here with my dad," Theo said quickly.

Her face fell. "Geez. And I thought you looked like fun."

Theo struggled to get back into his mental game. He thought she'd approached him and began talking to him because she was miserable and wanted some sympathy, but now it was becoming increasingly clear that she'd really had an ulterior motive all along. _Dear lord_, Theo thought numbly, _I've never been picked up in a church before!_

It was the way he had been frowning up at baby Jesus, she had said. Well, in retrospect, that would seem attractive to a person like her, wouldn't it? And the outfit he was wearing, too, Theo realized. Something about the fifty-years-behind-the-times look seemed outrageously trendy and almost fetishistic to a select group of people, usually the same group of people that liked to wear dark eye shadow and purple lipstick. Chicks dig a nice pair of corduroy trousers.

Still, now that Theo knew what was going on, he still wasn't going to let that deter him from pursuing his own goal. "I'm sorry I can't leave right now," he said diplomatically, "but listen, er, I have to ask you something. If you could change just one thing - any one thing - about your life right now, what would it be?"

She blinked at him, long eyelashes gobbed with eye shadow bobbing up and down across her dark irises. "Like, make a wish, any wish, but just one wish, that sort of thing?"

"Yeah, a wish." _Or a miracle,_ Theo added silently.

She gave him that same sly smile again. "What's the point? You can't make wishes come true."

"How do you know? Maybe I can."

"Bullshit."

"Maybe I'm an angel."

She thought about this for a second. "Y'know, I'd probably rather do business with a demon," she said.

"Okay, fine," Theo sighed. "I'll be a demon, then."

"That seems more credible." She held out her hand. "Shake on it?"

"What?"

"I'll make my wish, and you make it come true. And in exchange, I sell you my soul and all that."

"Oh, no," said Theo quickly, "this miracle is free of charge."

She laughed. "You're cute, you know that?" Then she shrugged, and held out her hand again. "Okay. Let's try this. What could be the harm? If you can't grant my wish, at least I don't have to sell you my soul, right?"

"I think you're missing the point," Theo grumbled, but he reached out nevertheless, and grasped her hand.

She squeezed his hand tightly. "Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Close your eyes. I'm going to close mine. Then we count to three, and I wish."

"You're a nutcase." But still, Theo closed his eyes. If he could deal with this crazy girl for just a few more minutes, he told himself, he might have a chance to make a really good miracle that would actually help someone out, and quite possibly earn him his wings. Then he would be done with this whole insufferable apprenticeship business, he could leave behind Aziraphale and the evil cat and the awful demon and the dusty, smelly old bookshop, and he could finally get on with his afterlife.

Theo's mind, at this point, was already forcefully denying the fact that the girl did not seem genuinely miserable at all with all of her problems. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying her suffering. In fact, she seemed to have taken "nutcase" as a compliment.

Theo ignored all of that. At that moment, he was absolutely, positively determined to help the girl out, and do a really, really good deed for once. And nothing was going to deter him from his goal, absolutely nothing.

"Are your eyes closed?" she asked.

"Yes," Theo answered, squeezing his eyes shut.

"All right." She took a deep breath.

Theo called up some equations in his head, fiddled with some thirteen-dimensional numbers, and mentally revved himself up for a miracle.

"It's just one thing I can change about my life, right?" she asked.

"Right. Just one thing."

"Tough call. I mean, my whole life does suck... Oh, very well, here we go. One, two, three." And then she proclaimed aloud to the echoing church, "I wish that things were different than they are!"

Theo's eyes snapped open. "Hey, wait a minute, that's too--"

He meant to say "vague," but he never got the chance. At that moment, she leaned forward, eyes still closed, and smacked her purple lips against his.

Theo choked on the sound of his own voice. His hand tightened spastically around hers. His brain fumbled with a bit of thirteen-dimensional division, slipped, skid, choked, and his mental train of miracle-coding equations derailed and crashed spectacularly all across his sub consciousness.

"Guh," Theo gasped into her mouth, as the remains of a miracle dribbled all over the inside of the church. This kiss was unbelievable - his first one, in fact. He didn't know whether to be angry or ecstatic that he had been set up from the beginning.

She broke the kiss, let go of Theo's hand, pulled back, and smirked at him. "Boy, you really are something. Don't you know that chicks really dig corduroy?"

* * *

Aziraphale was outside the church, whispering into the ear of a priest who was admiring the sky and searching for signs of God's existence in the clouds, when all of a sudden, every hair on the back of his divine neck stood on end.

_Oh_, he thought, feeling his stomach drop to his feet, _dear me_.

He rushed away from the priest's side.

* * *

Theo teetered backward, and slumped against the back into the pew. "Guh," he said again, for lack of anything better to say. He wiped his mouth slowly with his sleeve.

"I'm Nicki," she said, trying to prod his train of thought back to reality. "Do you come here often?"

"Guh."

"You know, you really--" She cut herself off, looked up over Theo's shoulder, and frowned. "Shit. Is that your pop?"

Two exquisitely manicured hands suddenly grasped Theo's shoulders and wrenched him up off the pew. "You!" Two brisk slaps, across both of Theo's cheeks, jolted him roughly back to awareness. "Theo, what did you just do?!"

"Ow!" Theo cried out with indignation. "Let me go!"

Aziraphale loosened his grip and Theo wriggled out of his grasp, stumbling away from him. "It's not my fault! I was set up! I was framed!" His eyes did a quick, sweeping glance of the church, and he saw Nicki pelting away from them, already half way to the exit. "It's her fault!" he insisted, pointing at Nicki as she ran away. "She made me do it! She distracted me!"

But Aziraphale would not so much as glance in Nicki's direction. The expression on his face was alternatively furious and frantic and panicked, and all of his attention was fixed squarely on Theo. "Theo, what in God's name were you trying to code here?!"

"I just wanted to do a miracle for her!" Theo said defensively.

"Oh, you made a miracle all right," Aziraphale said darkly. He turned and looked all around the church, up and down and side to side, and then turned back to Theo and asked gravely, "Now, you didn't happen to see which way your miracle went, did you?"

"What do you mean, went?"

"You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Oh, no." Aziraphale's legs seemed to wobble beneath him, and he sat down heavily on a pew. "Listen, I don't what sort of miracle you just did, but I do know that I can sense an unfinished code when it's executed, and you never finished coding a specific target for your miracle." He took a deep breath, as if calming his nerves. "It could be anywhere now, affecting anyone. It might not even stop at one target, if you made it powerful enough."

Theo gaped at him. "You mean, like, it's a runaway miracle?"

"This isn't funny."

"What exactly does a runaway miracle look like?"

"It looks like a runny mass of half-finished thirteen-dimensional equations. Are you sure that you didn't see where yours ran off to?"

"Er... No... You see, I wasn't looking for it, because, I, um, I sort of started to code a miracle, but then, uh, something else came up, and I got distracted, and I stopped thinking about it, so, you know, I figured that since the miracle wasn't finished, it, you know, it wouldn't execute."

Aziraphale stared at him. "No... That's not the way that it works." He sighed. "This is partially my fault, I suppose, for not making this absolutely clear earlier. But four-dimensional reality is lot more malleable, and a lot easier to manipulate, than you humans seem to think. It is very, very dangerous for an angel to start firing off thirteen-dimensional equations without ending the sequence properly. Just because you don't specify a target or an end purpose for your miracle, doesn't mean that you haven't started affecting reality already." Again, a deep breath. "All right. Fine. Let's start from the beginning. I need you to tell me exactly, Theo, exactly and precisely, what you coded your miracle to do."

"Well, um, that's the funny thing." Theo shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "I was trying to help out a person, and I asked her to make a wish, and she said that she wished things were different than they were." Theo looked down at his feet.

Aziraphale waited, his patience thinning, for Theo to continue. "And...?"

"And, um, that's it."

There was a long, long pause.

And then, Aziraphale asked softly, "Let me make sure that I understand clearly. She asked you to 'make things different.' And THAT was the basis for your miracle?!"

"I was going to ask her to specify," Theo cut in quickly, "But she, uh - she - uh, I couldn't right then, because she--"

"Oh, dear," Aziraphale moaned wretchedly. "The only thing worse than a half-finished miracle without a target, it a half-finished miracle without a purpose. Or," he added gloomily, "in your case, with a purpose so vague that it could be anything."

"Meaning...?"

"Your miracle," said Aziraphale darkly, pointing one accusing finger at Theo, "is out there, somewhere, right now, making things different. That's what you told it to do, isn't it? And that's just assuming," he continued, "that you somehow got your miracle to do what you wanted it to do at all. And I'm terribly sorry, Theo, but judging by your track record so far, that's not likely to be the case. What that means, then, is that we have no way of knowing what sort of half-finished miracle you've just unleashed. All I know for certain is, it was big, whatever it was. It was huge. I could feel the echoes of your miracle from outside this building - and I wasn't so very close to the epicenter, if you will."

"Oh," breathed Theo, beginning finally to grasp the implications.

"Your miracle was so strong that its echoes could affect this reality in ways that we can't possibly accurately predict." Aziraphale took a deep breath. "What under God's blue sky, Theo, could possibly have jolted you enough to create an effect that powerful?"

"Er..."

Another long pause.

And then, finally, the angel said, "Fine. If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. Anyway, we have to go," Aziraphale said determinedly, standing up again - although he wobbled slightly as he did so. "We have to go now."

"Go where?"

"Back. Home. I have to report this right away. Then we start, of course, looking for the awful thing. It might even have escaped this city by now. Who knows?"

* * *

Continued. 


	8. Chapter 07

Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended upsomehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!

* * *

Ordinary Miracles

by Nenena

* * *

Chapter 07

Amantea, Carlos A. 1992. The Blob that Ate Oaxaca & Other Travel Tales. Mho & Mho Works, San Diego, California. G465.A49

* * *

They returned home only to be greeted by the sound of a dog barking.

Aziraphale turned his key in the lock, pushed open the front door, and was nearly bowled over by the 150-pound St. Bernard that jumped up onto his chest and licked his tie.

"Oh," he said, "Oh no."

Theo pushed around the two of them and rushed into the bookshop. He glanced around quickly. Everything still looked the same, but--

"Margie, get down!" the angel commanded. The dog obediently settled back on her four paws. Aziraphale stepped fully inside, slammed the door shut behind him, and glared at Theo.

"Um, I think it was here," Theo said lamely. "The miracle, that is."

"I can see that." Aziraphale glanced over at the massive dog, and sighed. "I can't even begin to think how I'll explain this to Mr. Edwards." He stepped around the drooling mass of fur and made as if he were going toward the ansaphone, on which the little red light was blinking, indicating that he had another message (the second one of his entire life, in fact). Then, all of a sudden, he froze. "Theo... Do you hear that?"

"Hear wh--?"

"Shh!" Aziraphale reached over toward Theo, grasped the sleeve of his coat, and wrenched him in the direction of the door. "Stay quiet. Get ready to run."

"What?!" Theo squeaked.

Then he heard it.

Something was slumping around the upper level above them.

Thmp-slee, thmp-slee, thmp-slee.

"It's still here," Aziraphale said quietly, and very calmly. "And it sounds as if it must be absolutely enormous."

Margie sat down on the dusty floor, looked up at them both, wagged her tail, and made a deep, low, inquisitive sound in her throat.

"No," Aziraphale answered her testily, "I most certainly am not going to check my messages right now. There are only two things that it could be, anyway - either Mr. Edwards calling to say he's finally ready to come home and pick you up, or Crowley calling to say that he detected the misfired miracle going off and he wants to know what the Heaven is going on. Either way, bad news for me." He pushed Theo further back toward the door. "I'm going up. If that thing comes down here, Theo, I want you to take Margie and run. Get away as fast as you can. Don't let it touch you."

"But what are you going to do?!"

"Kill it right quick. I hope." Aziraphale crept across the shop until he was behind the counter with the cash register on it, always keeping one eye nervously trained on the entrance to the back room, where the stairs were. He fumbled for something in one of the drawers behind the counter. "Ah, yes, here we go." He triumphantly pulled out a small, sleek handgun.

Theo gaped at him. "You... You keep... That's... "

Aziraphale loaded a clip and then glanced guiltily over at Theo. "I know it's not safe with children in the house, but... Er... Well, yes, just not safe. Please don't ever touch."

"You're going to shoot my miracle?!"

"Well, obviously."

"The neighbors will hear that thing!"

"Not with the silencer on."

"Will that really stop it?"

"If I can hit something vital, like the core of the central division equation, then yes."

"But can you aim that thing? Have you ever--?"

Aziraphale turned, raised the gun, and pulled the trigger. A single leaf snapped off one of the plants closest to Theo, and the bullet buried itself in the wooden window frame just millimeters from where it would have otherwise broken glass.

Margie barked angrily at the angel.

"Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to startle you," Aziraphale apologized guiltily. "It's just, er, well, it's just a little hobby of mine... Going out to the shooting ranges every now and then... I've found that it's a delightful and constructive way to relieve stress." Then he turned to the plants and bowed his head guiltily. "I'm sorry to have done that to you, too. But that leaf was rotting anyway. Feels better to be rid of it, doesn't it?"

Theo gaped at him, again.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. "Right, then. Off I go." He headed toward the back room. "Get ready to run," he repeated as he turned one last time to glance at Theo over his shoulder.

Theo could hear the noises - thmp-slee, thmp-slee, thmp-slee - growing louder. The thing was already making its way down the stairs.

* * *

Truth to be told, there were actually two messages, not just one, on the angel's ansaphone. Not that the single red blinking light would have indicated either way. But, to be fair, both messages were exactly what Aziraphale had predicted them to be. One was Mr. Edwards, calling to say that he would be returning home tomorrow morning, and would finally be ready to take Margie off Aziraphale's hands. The other message was from Crowley, and contained quite a lot of swearing. He had indeed detected the execution of a massively misfired miracle a short while ago, even though he had been miles away from the epicenter at the time, and he wanted to know, exactly and precisely, in his own words, what sort of neck-deep shit the angel had just fallen into.

Patience, however, had never been one of Crowley's virtues. Some time after calling Aziraphale's phone, he finally told himself, "Bugger this," hopped into his car, and decided to drive over to the bookshop to confront the angel face-to-face. Maybe give that brat kid a piece of his mind, and a right good scaring, while he was at it. Crowley wasn't stupid; he had a pretty good idea which of the two of them must have been the one who made such a spectacularly incompetent mistake.

Kids, he thought darkly as he barreled through the crowded city streets. Stupid punk kids. Think they know everything...

The Bentley was pulling up to the curb outside the bookshop at the exact same moment that Aziraphale, gun held in front of him exactly like he had seen it done in thousands of cop movies and television shows that he had suffered through with Crowley, stepped into the back room.

* * *

Aziraphale could see the front end of it oozing down the stairs toward him. It was huge - bigger than he had imagined. Streams of writhing, tangled thirteen-dimensional differential equations twisted and slithered down the stairs, surrounded on all sides and contained within a shimmering, gelatinous mass. This was not something, mind you, that any human eyes ever could have seen. But to the angel, it looked something like the Blob, that famous creature from the old 1958 horror movie, only sparklier, glowing faintly with holy light, and shot through with ropy strings of equations that formed its central support system. It was studded with jumbled numbers, and bits and pieces of equations, like some sort of gelatin salad with bits of fruit in it. But those were only the incomplete bits, the leftovers. The real numbers - and the whole, finished equations - were tangled up in those slimy, twisted ropes of numbers in the center of the thing.

The thing paused, as if sensing the presence of the angel - and his gun. It had no eyes, per se, but it certainly did see Aziraphale. And it was already possessed with a sort of rudimentary intelligence.

It froze on the stairs. Aziraphale raised his gun. The miracle had paused to think, so now was the ideal time to shoot...

But it was no good. There was nothing to aim at, no killing shot to be made. Aziraphale ran his eyes up and down the length of the thing visible on the stairs, and saw no equations that even came close to being vital to the monster's existence.

_Oh dear,_ he thought. "Oh, fuck," he said.

The length of the monster currently running down the stairs was, Aziraphale realized gloomily, nothing more than an exploratory pseudopod. The bulk of the creature must still be taking up most of the top level. Goodness, thought Aziraphale with some amazement, the thing must be absolutely gigantic.

He was, for a moment, pleasantly surprised - and impressed - that his apprentice had managed to produce a miracle of such size. Pity it was a mutant and had to be put down, though.

Aziraphale thought quickly. He could retreat, exit the shop with Theo and Margie, run around to the back alley, and fly up to the second story window - Theo's bedroom. If he could get a good shot at some important part of the miracle through Theo's bedroom window, perhaps he could--

The monster caught Aziraphale completely by surprise by demonstrating that it could suddenly move very, very fast.

* * *

Theo felt every hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Margie growled, low in her throat.

_A demon!_

Theo whirled around, and through the front window, caught a glimpse of the Bentley parked at the curb, already sans driver. _Oh, shit, he's here!_

Crowley threw open the front door and nearly knocked over Theo, who had been cowering near it. "Angel--!! Eh? When'd you get a dog?" He spared Theo only a moment's glance. "Where's your angel, kid?"

Theo pointed toward the back room. "In there, with a gun."

"With a what now?" And then, pleadingly, "Please tell me he's trying to shoot whatever it is that he baked this morning."

"Nope. He went miracle-poaching."

"That idiot!" Crowley furiously stomped toward the back room.

He was stopped cold about three steps short, however, when a wriggling mass of mutated thirteen-dimensional equations suddenly slammed into him.

* * *

Theo saw the demon go under while uttering a strangled cry, and saw the tidal wave of glittering, blobbish numbers rushing toward him. At that moment, he stopped thinking, and instinct kicked in. He grabbed Margie's collar, yanked her viciously out the front door (courteously left open by the intruding demon), and ran.

He pelted down the sidewalk and halfway down the block before he stopped and turned around, breathing heavily.

He was just in time to see what happened to the Bentley.

Like toothpaste being squeezed out of a tube, the gelatinous mutant miracle squeezed and gushed out the front door of the book shop. The front part of it momentarily divided itself into several psuedopod-like antenna and paused, as if sniffing the air, searching for something - or someone - to target. Then the front feelers of the miracle dove into the parked Bentley, and the rest of the gooey mass followed suit.

Margie sat down next to Theo and patiently stared up at the street at the Bentley. She then looked up at Theo and blinked, confused, because she couldn't quite tell what Theo saw going on up there that was so absolutely fascinating. It just looked like a plain old car, to her dog eyes.

The blobbish, sparkling, glowing miracle, most of its mass still rushing out the front of the bookshop, was wrapping itself around the Bentley as if it had every intention of absorbing the car like some sort of monstrous amoeba. Theo watched, transfixed, as more and more of those twisted ropes of tangled equations wrapped around the vehicle, as more and more of the gelatinous blob carrying the ropes gushed out of the bookshop. It seemed to be taking hours for the whole thing to excrete itself from the building. _It must_, Theo thought numbly, _be absolutely enormous. There's more of it on the Bentley now than there is room in the upper level of the shop... And there's more of it still coming out._

Theo wondered how the gigantic mutant miracle had ever managed to squeeze its entire self into the bookshop in the first place.

Finally, with a tremendous, wet, slurping sound, the last of the miracle popped out of the doorway and retracted to fold into the blob-like mass engulfing the car. It jiggled for a moment, and then was still. It glittered and glowed with the light of a miracle about to happen.

And then nothing happened.

Theo stood for a few moments, staring at the sight in front of him.

_It's like an avant-garde art piece. I'd title it 'Car Encased in Holy Jell-o.'_

Margie, as a way of indicating that she was painfully bored, started sniffing herself.

There were people out there, too, on the sidewalk. Not many of them, and most of them were at the opposite ends of the block. But there were people, out there going about their daily business, nevertheless. None of them that passed within eyesight of the car so much as blinked an eye. None of the humans could see anything thirteen-dimensional going on the immediate vicinity. One young woman paused to take a second glance at Theo, wondering what he was staring at so fixedly. Then she saw the antique car parked neatly at the curb up the street, and grinned inwardly. Boys and their love for cars...

Theo stood on the sidewalk, fretting. He didn't know what to do next. The miracle didn't look like it was going anywhere, but he couldn't be sure. He was afraid to step any closer to it. And then there was the problem of the angel and the demon, who were certainly still inside the bookshop, although Theo had no idea what the miracle had done to them. If he had to hazard a guess, then... He supposed, based on what he had seen happen to Margie, that they would have been turned into dogs. Which, in turn, would present a whole host of interesting new problems...

Theo knew that he couldn't afford to wait outside any longer. He had to see what had happened inside the bookshop. He crept one slow step forward, and then another, and then another.

The miracle exploded.

It burst forth from all around the Bentley in a shower of glitter and sparkles and thirteen-dimensional numbers and holy light. Shimmering slime and fragments of equations rained down all over the street. Theo cried out and raised his arm in an attempt to shield himself from the miraculous debris. He glanced up again just in time to see the main bulk of the blob sliding off the Bentley, recollecting itself, and pooling in the middle of the street. Strangely, bizarrely, the street was, for the moment at least, completely deserted - not a single car running back or forth along its surface. The miracle seemed to gather itself up for a moment, as if rearing, pulling itself up to its full height, shaping itself into an intimidating mountain of wiggling slime and writhing ropes of equations.

And then it plunged itself into the street.

Down, down through the pavement it disappeared. It seemed to slide down into nothingness, passing through the concrete as if it were no more substantial than air. And, as it had before, the miracle moved fast. Within nearly a split second, it was gone.

The street was empty, save for a few pieces of numerical debris scattered here and there, and a few unfortunate drops of slime. A moment later, as if on cue, cars began rounding the corners at both ends of the street and driving back and forth down its length again.

Theo winced and brushed a stray number off his coat. He rushed forward toward the Bentley. It still looked like a car, at least - and it wasn't barking, yet. Margie ran after him, panting excitedly. Theo ran right up to the car and paused, examining it tentatively. Yes, definitely still a car. But it was gross, still covered in its entirety with a thin layer of leftover slime, although the holy glow from the slime was definitely fading. A few stray thirteen-dimensional numbers were stuck to the slime, a few jammed down between the front seats, and one particularly nasty bit of equation looked like it was crunched up inside the front left tire well.

Strangely, the license plates seemed to have vanished.

Theo reached out and tentatively ran his fingers through the slime on the car's gleaming black hood. He felt nothing, save for the faint trace of an echo of a past miracle performed, although the echo was rapidly fading into nothingness.

"So the miracle did do something here," he breathed. But whatever had been done to the car, Theo couldn't tell. It was apparently not something that he could tell by looking at it, at least.

Still, the car was a mess. It was the demon's fault for driving a topless car, Theo thought, but still, he wasn't going to be happy when he saw that the leather seats in the interior were drenched in cold, jiggly holy slime.

Margie raised one leg idly and urinated on the car. Theo turned away from her, blushing, embarrassed. It seemed as though Margie was no longer a _her_ anymore, either.

* * *

Theo entered the dark bookshop hesitantly, bracing himself, thinking that at any moment he was about to be mauled alive by a demon-turned-pit-bull. "Hello?" he called out as he stood in the doorway, Margie panting at his heels. "Mr. Crowley? Mr. Aziraphale?" The inside of the bookshop was clean as it had ever been - which is to say, dusty and dark and damp. But nothing, not a single whit of the dust that coated the place, looked disturbed. It was if the miracle had never passed through there at all.

Theo heard a groan, peered farther back into the bookshop, and saw the shape of the demon - the very human shape of the demon - lying on the floor, just a few feet in front of the entrance to the back room.

Theo rushed over to his side and knelt down. "Hello? Mr. Crowley?"

He could have sworn he'd heard the demon groan. But Mr. Crowley was lying very, very still, and Theo could see that his chest was neither rising nor falling. _Uh-oh,_ he thought, feeling the first tendrils of panic beginning to creep into his stomach. The demon, like his car, was covered from head to toe in a thin layer of sparkling slime. Theo could see bits and pieces of thirteen-dimensional numbers stuck to him, here and there. The demon's shades were gone, apparently having been knocked off his face, and his eyes were closed, dark lashes lying still against pale, slime-drenched cheeks. It had been a bad day for the demon to choose to be wearing a leather jacket, Theo thought ruefully. The jacket - like the rest of his clothes - was probably ruined.

Served him right for wearing leather, though.

Theo reached for the demon's slimy wrist, pushed aside his expensive watch, and pressed his fingers down. He waited, counting. But there was no pulse.

_Oh, shit._

Margie padded up to Theo's side and sat down heavily, regarding him with her - that is, with his - dark, mournful brown St. Bernard eyes. You know what you have to do now, those expressive dog eyes told him.

"No way."

Yes way.

"I'm going to hate myself for this in a moment." Still, Theo had taken enough first-aid classes throughout all of his summer camp years to know a drowning victim when he saw one. He had to get the demon breathing again, he had to get the demon's heart going again.

Theo stood up, straddled the demon, knelt down, clasped his hands properly, and began thrusting the heel of his hand against the demon's chest. One, two, three thrusts. Then he took a deep breath, and leaned forward toward the demon's mouth--

Crowley's eyes flew open.

He took one look up at Theo, and his yellow eyes widened with panic. He cried out wordlessly, and with one swipe of his slimy arm, knocked the boy right off him and into the dusty floor. "What the HELL do you think you're DOING?!" He scrambled away from Theo and into a standing position, wiping his dark, gooey bangs away from his eyes.

"That hurt!" Theo said angrily, recollecting himself and forcing himself painfully back into a standing position. Because he had touched the demon, he was now quite slimy himself, although at the moment, he didn't care - he had other things to worry about. "Ow... What were you trying to do, kill me?! I was trying to help you!"

"That's not help - that's a perversion!"

"But you weren't breathing!"

"I don't NEED to breathe!" Crowley glanced around himself frantically. "Where'd my glasses go?"

"I think the blob ate them."

"Was I hit?" And then, as if to answer himself, Crowley suddenly coughed violently, doubled over for a moment, made a few gasping, choking sounds, and then, a split second later, hacked up a horribly jagged thirteen-dimensional number. He coughed some more, spit up a stringy mess of an equation, then thumped his chest with his fist, stood back upright shakily, cleared his throat, and said somewhat guiltily, "Er, excuse me."

"You okay?"

"I think I swallowed some numbers," Crowley winced, "But I'm fine. A mess, but I'm fine." He snapped his fingers, and then the slime was gone, his clothes looked fresh and dry and new, and a new pair of shades was perched on his nose. "That's the second pair I've lost in here today. Between you and that idiot angel, I don't know what to do anymore."

Theo's hand flew to his mouth, and he gasped. "Oh, no - I forgot all about the idiot angel!"

"Bless it." Crowley turned toward the back room. "Was he in there?"

"He was."

"You think the miracle got him?"

"Probably."

Crowley beckoned Theo closer with a wave of his hand. "Stay close to me, kid. No telling what that monster of yours might have done to him."

Theo, however, wouldn't come any closer to the demon. "But what about you?"

"Say what now?"

"I mean, if my miracle turned Margie into a dog - and into a, uh, guy dog at that - then wouldn't it have done something to you, too?" Theo peered at the demon suspiciously. "Aziraphale told me not to let it touch me. But it practically ate you. So, um... Don't you... Um, don't you feel any different?"

Crowley glared at Theo - again, Theo could tell that he was glaring, even from behind the sunglasses. "Kid, I hate your guts. This has been the worse day I've had in a long time, and I just spent an involuntary vacation being slow-roasted down in the barbecue pits of Hell. I am so pissed at you right now, that the only thing stopping me from sinking my claws into your scrawny little neck is the knowledge that the bloody stupid idiot angel would never, ever forgive me if I cost him his apprentice. I'm tired, I'm hungry, I'm overstressed, I want a drink, and I want to go run down some pedestrians in my car. So, in short, I feel just like I always do, only slightly more homicidally enraged than normal, which is understandable, considering the circumstances. Do I sound like a changed man to you?"

"No," Theo admitted, "You sound just as awful as always."

"Thank you."

"But why?"

"No matter how big a miracle may be," Crowley said, with a vague wave of his hand, "Most miracles can only affect mortal creatures. We immortals tend to be more stubborn, and more resistant to change, than most." But then, Crowley cast a worried glance in the direction of the back room. "Still... You never know... I think the angel caught the worst of it."

Feeling his stomach twist with unease, Theo crept closer to the demon's side, as the two of them ventured forth into the back room.

* * *

They found Aziraphale, looking as unchanged and Aziraphale-like as ever, lying on the floor in front of the bottom of the stairs, coated, as Crowley had been, in glittering slime from the golden curls on top of his head to the scuffed and worn shoes on his feet. One of his arms was flopped on the floor, slightly extended from his body, and his hand and fingers seemed frozen in the position of holding the grip of a gun and preparing to pull the trigger. The handgun, however, was nowhere to be found.

_The blob took it,_ Theo realized as he watched Crowley kneel down beside the still angel. _It was an offering._ He turned and glanced at Margie who, as a cat, had previously been wearing a collar. Now, as a St. Bernard, Margie was wearing nothing at all around his neck. _Margie's _

_collar, Aziraphale's gun, Crowley's glasses, and the Bentley's license plates. It takes an offering and performs a miracle on each of its victims..._

"Come on, angel, snap out of it!" Crowley had gathered Aziraphale's slimy body in his arms and was briskly slapping the angel's goo-coated cheeks. This was producing a distinctly unpleasant, wet, meaty sound. It was also succeeding in getting Crowley just as messy and goo-covered

himself as he had been a minute ago anyway. "Come on, you idiot angel, open your eyes--"

"You don't have to hurt him like that," Theo said angrily.

"But he's not waking up!"

"Try CPR."

"I told you, he doesn't need to breathe."

"But what if he's dead?!"

"Then making out isn't going to help any." Crowley drew back his hand as far as it would go. "Sorry, angel, but I gotta do this." The resulting slap resounded loudly through the back room. "Wake UP, Aziraphale!"

"Gah!" The angel jerked in Crowley's arms, and his eyes flew open. One arm flew up and whacked Crowley, hard, across his face. His sunglasses bent inward slightly. "Ow," Crowley said.

Aziraphale gasped. "Oh, Crowley - is that you?"

"Who did you think it was?!"

The angel's eyes flew wildly around the room. "Theo - are you all right?" He struggled to push himself away from Crowley and stand up. "Where - Where did the miracle go?" But he wobbled on his legs; he couldn't make it all the way up. Crowley stood up swiftly and caught the angel as he swooned. "Oh," Aziraphale moaned as he leaned against

Crowley's shoulder (splattering more slime against him yet again), "I don't feel so good..."

Crowley steered the slimy angel toward a chair. "I know that this is nearly a rhetorical question, but are you all right?"

"No." Aziraphale raised one hand to his forehead as Crowley helped him sit down. "My head is pounding something awful. And I feel like I'm covered in fruit gelatin." He ran his fingers through his slimy hair and pulled out chunks of thirteen-dimensional numbers from his curls. "Oh, dear. I'm a mess, aren't I?"

"Absolutely." Crowley beckoned for Theo again. "Hey, kid, come here. I need your help."

"About what?"

"You know about first aid and stuff, right? So what are you supposed to do when someone gets a bad bump to their head?"

"Oh, you ask them questions, like, what year is it right now, who the president is, what their name is, and all that. You hold up fingers and ask them how many you're holding up, and you have to see if their eyes can follow your fingers when you move them. It's to see if they can still see and think straight." He walked over toward Aziraphale. "So, um, just to be safe... What's your name?"

"Aziraphale."

"And what year is it right now?"

"That's no good. Don't ask him that," interrupted Crowley impatiently, dismissing Theo's advice with a contemptuous wave of his hand. "This angel always gets confused about what year it is." Then a thought occurred to him. "Hey, angel - what day of the week did Saint Michael's Day fall on in the year 1596?"

"Tuesday," Aziraphale answered promptly.

" 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, there is a man child conceived.' That's from--?"

"Job, chapter three, verse three."

"Best tiramisu in town?"

"Giotto."

Crowley slapped the angel triumphantly on the back (causing him to pitch forward and nearly fall out of his seat). "See?" he said to Theo. "He's fine."

"It has a self-replenishing feedback loop," Aziraphale managed to gasp out.

"Sure, fine, except that now he's speaking gibberish," Theo pointed out.

"No, no, no." Aziraphale shook his head. "Your miracle. It has a self-replenishing feedback loop. That's why it took my gun." His hands were trembling; he looked very pale.

Crowley whistled. "Now that's some sophisticated coding. When you'd teach the kid how to do that?"

"I didn't."

Theo glanced back and forth between them, feeling very confused, and very left out. "Wait a minute. I did what?"

"A really neat trick. Or at least, it would be under different circumstances." Aziraphale shifted in his seat, and winced as he heard the distinct squelching sound of his slimy clothes further coating the upholstery of his chair in divine goo. "Enough of this," he sighed, and, like Crowley had, snapped his fingers. In an instant, the goo was gone. "Don't smirk at me like that Crowley, I swore I would never snap my fingers or take shortcuts like that, and it's the first time I've broken that promise in three thousand years. Wipe that idiot grin off your face! I am not feeling testy about it at all, not a whit. Now, er, Theo, about your... ah, creation. Under normal circumstances, the miracle - which, usually, I feel I must comment, tends to be much smaller than that one - would only have enough mass to last through one, two, or maybe three targets. At each target that it hits, its mass converts to divine energy, and therein a miracle is performed. With each target that it touches it would lose more mass; eventually, it would pittle away to nothing, and not be a threat anymore. But not this one. This one has a self-replenishing feedback loop coded into the central matrix. From each target that it touches, it takes some mass to replenish the mass that it loses in performing the requisite miracle."

"Like some sort of offering?"

"Precisely."

_I was right,_ thought Theo grimly, _it_ was _taking offerings._

"But that means, unfortunately, that this particular miracle will never run itself out. Crowley, would you be a dear and break out the Beefeater? It's in the top cupboard on the left. Dear me, I can't seem to stop my hands from shaking. Theo, darling, are you sure that you're all right? It didn't manage touch you, did it?"

Instead of answering, Theo stepped over close to the angel and placed his hand on Aziraphale's forehead. "You're burning up," he said. "You've got a fever."

"I don't feel well at all," Aziraphale admitted. But he gave Theo a wan smile. "Just give me a few moments to recover, all right? We have bigger problems to--"

"But you said the blob performed a miracle on you. Didn't that DO something to you?"

"Most likely." Aziraphale was still forcing himself to give that small, uneasy smile to Theo. "I don't, however, feel any different than I normally do, other than feeling like I was just run over by a train. Do I seem any different to you?"

"I dunno. You don't, uh, feel the urge to sniff fire hydrants or go chew on steak bones or anything, do you?"

"Nothing of the sort. Thank you," he said as Crowley handed him a glass filled with gin. Aziraphale seemed to have gotten his trembling hands back under control; he held his glass steady, took a polite sip, and asked courteously, "Theo, would you care for something to drink?"

Theo felt a sudden wave of relief loosening the knot in his stomach. "No. Thanks. I'm fine, really. And you sound the same as ever, thank God."

"It wouldn't have affected us, angel," Crowley added, after taking a swig from his own glass. "No way that thing could have changed us in any way. I'm sorry about your neighbor's cat, but we - you and I - we're a different story."

"Tsk." Aziraphale played with his glass in his hands, swirling his drink thoughtfully. Or maybe that was the result of his hands shaking again. "I wouldn't be too sure, Crowley. In fact, I believe that you're wrong entirely. You saw the size of that thing... And it took my gun, and your glasses. It must have performed some miracle on us."

"So what's its central code?" Crowley poured himself another drink. "Does it turn everyone into dogs? If that's the case, then maybe it tried that on us, but it didn't work." Again, smug. "That would be a useful miracle, though, I'll give you that, kid."

"I wasn't trying to turn people into dogs," Theo said angrily. "I just wanted to make things different for someone."

"Okay, so, what was the central code?" Crowley asked again.

"Er... That was the central code."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, all I did was... I just told it to make things different."

Crowley nearly spat out his drink. "THAT was your central code?!"

"We don't know that," said Aziraphale sharply. "We don't know what it actually does. It has only hit three targets yet, and against you and me there appears to be a null effect. So far. Crowley, I am worried. What if you and I changed somehow, but we don't realize it? Poor Margie doesn't seem to remember that she ever was a dear little kitten."

"Um," said Theo suddenly.

Aziraphale immediately picked up on the guilty tone of voice behind Theo's single-syllable utterance. " 'Um' what?" he asked.

"Um, it's actually hit four targets so far," Theo said in a very small voice.

"Theo..."

"I was going to bring this up, um, in just a second anyway," Theo said quickly, rushing on toward the inevitable. "But I saw it - after it left the bookshop - the first thing it hit was Mr. Crowley's car."

There was the sound of glass breaking. That was Crowley dropping his glass from between his suddenly numb fingers. And then, the sound of heavy footsteps pounding furiously away, toward the street outside.

"Crowley, wait!" Aziraphale tried to get up out of his seat and follow, but he only seemed to be able to get to his feet very, very shakily. He wobbled on his feet, stumbled forward, and paused to rest against the table, breathing heavily.

Theo instinctively reached out and grasped the angel's hand. "You're hurt!" he gasped.

"Not hurt. Just," Aziraphale winced, "tired."

"You should sit down."

"No. I want to see this. Er, the car, that is."

"Then I'll help you," Theo said, taking his position by the angel's side, holding one of the angel's arms. "If you lean on me, can you walk?"

"But you're so short!"

"Oh, come off it. You're not so very tall."

Aziraphale flashed him a beautifully grateful smile. "No, I suppose I'm not, am I?" He leaned himself against Theo, and the two of them shuffled forward slowly.

* * *

"It still looks like a car," Crowley was saying as the other two emerged from the bookshop. "But it was here, all right - just look at this!" He waved the stringy remains of a half-finished thirteen-dimensional algebraic equation angrily at them. "Found it jammed in the tire well!" He threw down the equation angrily; it vanished before it even hit the ground. "There was glitter everywhere, too. I had a horrible time snapping it all away."

"I told you," said Theo, "The blob swallowed your whole car. I saw it." Although, Theo noted, any trace of glittering goo left behind by the blob was now gone completely. More finger-snapping, as Crowley had said. Theo led the angel down to the curb.

"Have you checked under the hood?" Aziraphale asked. His voice was beginning to sound stronger; he was leaning far less heavily against Theo than he had been a few steps back. "Might be, er, a dog or something, instead of the engine."

Crowley checked. "Looks like an engine to me," he said as he lowered the hood down again.

"Try the... whatchacallit... ignition. Can't be sure until you try that."

Crowley hopped into the driver's seat and placed his keys in the ignition. "Hold your breath," he said darkly. "In gangster movies, this is always the part where the car explodes."

He turned the keys.

The Bentley roared to life, sounding exactly, perfectly, wonderfully the same way that it always did. Crowley seemed to sink back into his seat with relief. "There. It doesn't seem changed at all, does it? Good for you, Theo - now I don't have to kill you."

"Try the radio," Aziraphale insisted.

Crowley turned on the radio and fiddled with the tuner; it worked fine, and picked up every station.

"Try the tape deck," Aziraphale pressed on.

"Aren't you sick of Queen yet?" Crowley mumbled as he fumbled for a tape and pushed it into his Blaupunkt. He pressed play, and the sweet, soothing sounds of Mozart, performed by the Warsaw Philharmonic, filled the air.

Crowley sat slowly back in his seat. The expression on his face, even barely visible from behind his shades, was that of a man who was absolutely astounded.

After a moment, Aziraphale said slowly, "That doesn't sound like Queen at all."

"No. It doesn't." Crowley, moving slowly, as though he were moving through a dream, ejected the first tape, and tried a second one. This time it was Beethoven, on the piano. He listened for a moment, then tried a third tape. It was Carmen - tuned up to the Habanera, no less.

"I thought you had nothing but Queen tapes," Aziraphale finally said.

"I did. But before that, I had... this stuff," Crowley said slowly. He sounded as if he couldn't quite believe it himself.

"Personally, I never would have pegged you as someone who listened to opera," Theo said, for lack of anything better to say. He couldn't understand for the life of him just why Crowley seemed so surprised to suddenly be in the possession of a collection of tapes full of classical music. "What are you so worked up about?"

"Theo," said Crowley, in that same slow, dreamy voice, "I could just about kiss you right now."

"Don't even think about it," Aziraphale said quickly. Then, to Theo, "Your miracle fixed his car. Apparently, your miracle was able to do away with a curse that neither of us has been able to lift for the past sixty years."

"What curse?"

"The curse of Freddie Mercury," Crowley said, his voice low and full of doom. Then he instantly brightened up again. "Still, it will be nice to listen to some light opera next time I feel like committing vehicular homicide. Thank you, Theo. I mean it. Really, really. Thank you. You've just made my day."

Theo shook his head. "No, don't thank me. I don't understand at

all. But then again, I don't even really want to know..."

"So." Crowley leaned back in his seat; the car's engine was still idling as Leontyne Price sang opera on the cassette player. "I gotta run, angels, but before I go - the million-dollar question. Theo, you said you saw the miracle eat my car. Did you see where it went after that?"

Theo pointed out into the street. "Out there," he said. "And then it went down."

"What do you mean, down?"

"It went down through the pavement. Right through the street, like there was nothing there at all. But it didn't touch anyone or anything else. It was weird. There were, like, no cars on the street. But just until the miracle left; then they all came back."

All of the good cheer seemed to instantly vanish from Crowley's face. "What?" he asked flatly.

"I said, it went down. Maybe into the sewers, or, whatever you have under the street here. I don't know."

"Oh dear," said Aziraphale, who by that time was standing completely on his own. He instantly dropped to his knees and lowered his head to the ground. He brushed away some leftover slush and snow, ignored Theo's gasp of surprise, then pressed his ear against the cold concrete, and appeared to be listening, frowning. Theo glanced up and down the street frantically, hoping that nobody was watching--

"I can't hear it," Aziraphale said. His frown deepened. "I can't hear any trace of the miracle. But I can hear... something else."

From inside the car, Crowley slapped his face and groaned. "Does it sound like a huge gaping hole in reality that opens up on a deep pit full of flames and screaming voices slowly closing up on itself?"

"Exactly that."

"Unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable."

"What, it went to HELL?!" Theo asked, his voice squeaking.

"Sure. If it can pass down through the surface of the street, why not pass Down through the boundaries of this mortal plane altogether?" Aziraphale straightened himself up, wincing as the joints in his back creaked. He already seemed much, much more steady on his feet than he had in the bookshop. "There's no way we can follow it now. Crowley?"

"We are so fucked," Crowley moaned. "It won't get far - it can't get far - they'll kill it good before it gets the chance to do too much damage. But they'll want to know where it came from and how it got Down There in the first place, and they'll be asking me about it, naturally, and there's no way I can cover your asses on this one, absolutely no way, because there's nobody else that I can peg a giant mutant miracle on save for you two--"

"Hey!" Theo was surprised to find himself so suddenly angry at the demon. "I fixed your car, you ungrateful monster! You can't go squealing to your superiors about us--"

"Yes, he can," Aziraphale said at the exact same time that Crowley said "Yes, I will."

Aziraphale dusted off his hands on his coat. "Well, that's that, then. It's out of our hands now. The good news, Theo, is that you and I are no longer immediately responsible for tracking down the miracle and destroying it ourselves. The bad news is that now we have nothing to do but to sit around and wait for somebody Up There to find out about this, and give us our punishment."

"See you later, then," Crowley said cheerfully as he pulled away from the curb. "Try not to lose your job over this one, angel," was the last thing he said before he roared away.

Theo stood silently beside Aziraphale, watching the demon leave. "So, um, it's really gone?" he finally asked.

"Theo, I am one hundred percent certain that your miracle took a swan dive straight Down There. Why, I couldn't fathom - nobody knows how these mutants think - but I can guarantee you that by now, it must be nearly barbecued into oblivion. Demons don't let holy things last very long down there. They like to stab things and set them on fire." He gave Theo a brilliant smile. "Still, like I said, out of our hands, right?"

Theo gulped.

Aziraphale took his hand and began pulling him away from the curb. "I imagine we'll be hearing from Nathanael, or perhaps even Michael, very shortly." Suddenly, all of the smile seemed to have left his voice.

"Are you going to get into trouble?" Theo asked as he allowed the angel to pull him back into the bookshop.

"We are going to get into trouble," Aziraphale said very slowly, enunciating each word. Margie was there, waiting for them, wagging his tail and panting gently. Aziraphale reached over and absent-mindedly scratched him behind the ears. "I can't, for the life of me, seem to be able to change this poor thing back to the way she was. You certainly coded one amazingly sophisticated miracle, Theo. And a very powerful one, too. Unfortunately, it was a mistake - the type of mistake, I'm afraid, that could cost you your apprenticeship."

"What?" asked Theo, very quietly.

"Listen," said Aziraphale, and then opened his mouth as if he were about to say something else, but he took one look at Theo's face, and it seemed as though his voice suddenly failed him. He coughed, self-consciously. Then he said, "Let's go back. Ah, I think you should sit down for this."

* * *

In the back room, Theo felt as though he were in a daze. He didn't even realize that he was sitting in the chair he had seen Crowley using earlier that day - a thought that normally would have repulsed him. Aziraphale had poured him a soda and was sitting down across from him and was trying to speak as normally as he usually did, but nothing, unfortunately, could mask the apprehension in his voice. "I will try to take the blame for this," he said, after taking a deep breath. "It's my fault, really, for not teaching you the proper safety precautions that go along with miracling. And I believe that I can make a persuasive case on your behalf. It truly was a spectacular miracle, very sophisticated coding, and you've certainly demonstrated on other occasions that you have no trouble executing any other miracles, big or small, you just have to practice more, er, precision... Yes, that's the word. Precision. No, I mean, er, practice. You need more practice. I'll tell Nathanael that, you just need more practice. They--"

"They don't give out second chances, do they?" Theo interrupted. The words had slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself. His stomach sank to his knees as he watched the angel's face fall.

"No," the angel said miserably, "they don't. They never have. That's why good angels Fall."

"So I'm not going to get my wings," Theo said, in the flat, fatalistic tones of someone who knew what fate was about to dole out, yet could not quite bring himself to believe that it was reality yet. "And

because I'm not going to get my wings, you'll... you'll... Crowley was saying this morning that you'll..."

"I'll be all right, Theo. They wouldn't fire me." The tone of Aziraphale's voice was utterly unconvincing, but at least he was trying.

Outside, the sun was setting. Inside the bookshop, Margie was playing in his former litter box as if it were his new sandbox. The first day of the new year was ending. Theo could see the metaphorical doors slamming shut on his career as an angel just as plainly as he could see the sorrow and the guilt lining Aziraphale's ancient, ancient face. "It's my fault, I'm so sorry, it's all my fault," the angel was saying again, but Theo wasn't listening anymore. He didn't care whose fault it was. Maybe it was Nicki's fault for kissing him, maybe it was his fault for breaking his concentration and not finishing his codes, maybe it was the bloody stupid angel's fault for not teaching him that he wasn't supposed to do that in the first place. He kept thinking of the demon's words this morning. Maybe they were true. Maybe he had been set up for failure from the very first moment. Maybe that was his fault, for not being good enough to be an angel in the end, anyway. Maybe it had all been a mistake in the first place - maybe he had been a mistake from the first place. As if he was never supposed to have been chosen to become an angel at all.

It was all so wrong. It wasn't supposed to end like this - all because of some stupid, stupid kiss and some stupid, stupid mistake. Theo's vision blurred and he could feel tears rolling down his cheeks even before he realized what was happening. The phone call from Above would come any minute now, and then it would all be over, for both of them--

Suddenly, the angel's arms were around him. That helped, a lot. It was warm and close and good inside the angel's embrace, and Theo took a deep, hitching breath, breathing in the scent of cinnamon rolls and hazelnut coffee. Aziraphale was touching his hair and whispering into his ear, telling him to hush, telling him to calm down, telling him that everything would be all right, and that was good, too. Good, but not good enough. Theo knew that it was already over for him, and so he wept, nevertheless.

* * *

Continued. 


	9. Chapter 08

Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended upsomehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!

NOTE: This chapter has been edited to comply with posting guidelines. An uncensored version of this chapter is available at boukenshin dot net slash crowley.

* * *

Ordinary Miracles 

by Nenena

* * *

Chapter 08 

Leavitt, David and Mitchell, Mark, eds. 1997. Pages Passed from Hand to Hand. Houghton Mifflin, Boston. PR1110.G39 P35

* * *

Theo would have spent the entire night waiting anxiously for the phone call from Above, had he not cried himself to sleep that evening while being held in Aziraphale's arms. 

And the phone call never came.

* * *

Aziraphale carried Theo up to his bedroom and laid him down in bed. He returned downstairs and finally got around to playing back the messages on his ansaphone. He found out that Mr. Edwards was returning the next morning to pick up Margie. He fretted and fussed and made several more increasingly frantic and ultimately vain attempts to try to turn Margie back into a female cat, but to no avail. No matter what he tried, he seemed utterly unable to undo what Theo's miracle had done; he only succeeded in once, briefly, inducing a temporary state of hermaphroditism in the poor dog. Margie didn't seem to mind, but Aziraphale was embarrassed enough for both of them to immediately undo that change. 

He then spent the night at home, himself waiting for the phone call that never came. He also spent several strange, worried hours staring at his own reflection in a mirror in the back room, frowning at his own face, scrutinizing himself carefully for even the slightest bit of visible change. Based on what he had seen Theo's miracle do to the cat and then to Crowley's car, he was increasingly convinced that it must have done something to change him, too. Which was an extremely uncomfortable thought, because Aziraphale certainly didn't feel changed at all, although he knew that the feeling counted for practically nothing when faced with reality. It was an almost nauseating thought, being filled with the certainty that he had been changed against his will, although he couldn't yet figure out how. Aziraphale shuddered, and could not shake the feeling that he had been somehow violated. He knew enough about how miracles worked to know that if he were behaving abnormally, he would think that his abnormal behavior was perfectly normal, and wouldn't be able to detect anything out of the ordinary about himself.

He spent most of the night stewing about this unpleasant thought, because it kept his mind off the other unpleasant thought that would have otherwise occupied him - the unpleasant thought of his miserable, miserable failing with Theo.

When the sun rose, Aziraphale gave up and decided not to think about anything at all anymore. He made himself a nice pot of coffee and wondered that the phone hadn't rung all night. Was it taking them longer than usual to get their paperwork straight Up There?

* * *

Paul Edwards was just finishing up the two most miserable weeks of his entire life. 

He normally loved the holiday season. He normally hated his own family. Having spent the entire holiday season shacking up with his own various family members, he could now safely conclude that he would forever hate the holiday season for the rest of his future days, too. It had not helped anything when the only sane and kind-hearted member of his brood, his great aunt Nia, had decided that the week before Christmas would be a good time to go walking down the street and to get run down by a car. That meant that there was a funeral to attend, and Edwards hated funerals. It had also not helped anything that, at the time of her death, Aunt Nia's will had been, shall we say, still a work in progress. It had also not helped anything that, at the time of her death, Aunt Nia had also been, shall we say, the filthiest richest member of Edwards' entire despicable clan. That meant that there were many, many long-lost family members suddenly turning up under the eaves, and they had all brought their solicitors. There had been as many solicitors at Aunt Nia's memorial service as there had been relations. Edwards hated solicitors. Christmas was supposed to have been a time of good cheer and jovial family get-togethers; for Edwards' family, it had been a time of bitter grief, equally bitter in-fighting, jealousy, spite, betrayal, legal conniving, and worst of all, eggnog. Edwards had stayed with his brother, and been forced to drink gallons of his American sister-in-law's homemade eggnog because she was highly emotionally unstable and would break down into tears if he ever refused to eat or drink anything that she had made.

Edwards hated eggnog.

He'd spent two miserable weeks, missing his home, missing his cat, missing his lovely little porn shop, and missing that strange aura of peace and love and goodwill toward men that seemed to permeate the absolutely lovely block of Soho above which he lived. He also felt terrible about imposing Margie upon his kindly gay neighbor in the antique bookshop, cat-lover though he may be. Edwards was well aware of what a handful Margie could be.

Now it was six o'clock in the morning on January 2nd, and Edwards was finally, finally on the road home. He drove his car down the motorways leading into London proper and hummed to himself, cheerfully, looking forward to his happy reunion with Margie that was coming up in the next few hours. He felt good. No, not just good, but downright great - a man confidentially sitting at the start of what he felt in his gut was going to be a very, very good day. His first good day in a long time, in fact. His first good day back home.

Although expecting to have a good day, Mr. Edwards was yet unaware that he was in truth embarking on what was to become the greatest day of his entire life.

* * *

At seven o'clock in the morning, Aziraphale was sitting in his back room, reading, and wondering why Heaven hadn't called yet. Surely they'd found out about everything, by now...? They must have; there was only one way that the fiasco could have played out already. Theo's miracle tried to enter Hell; it surely wouldn't have gotten far, but it must have been noticed by at least a few pissed-off demons before it met its fiery demise, and Hell was allowed to file complaints against Heaven if a big enough breach of their security occurred, provided that said breach was an exception from legitimate Good vs. Evil warfare (which this was). Aziraphale knew that demons loved to complain (just look at Crowley). He also knew that demons loved to use any opportunity they could to make Heaven look bad (and this certainly counted as one). 

Then why no phone call, not yet?

Aziraphale wondered if he should just call them himself.

Actually, he realized with chagrin, he might have to do so anyway. He was going to have to ask one of the professionals Up There for help with Margie, eventually. He wouldn't have time to do it this morning before Mr. Edwards arrived, however, which presented a problem.

Aziraphale then pondered a new ethical dilemma. Should he tamper with Mr. Edwards' memories to make him believe he'd had a dog all along? Should he tamper with Mr. Edwards' perceptions to make him believe that his dog was still a cat? Should he lie and say that Margie ran away, and then have her magically return to him sometime next week, back in her cat form? Should he just bugger it all and tell Mr. Edwards the truth? Decisions, decisions. He was going to have to think of some devious solution to the problem, though, and quick. Which was problematic in and of itself, because deviousness had never been one of Aziraphale's strong points.

* * *

At eight o'clock in the morning, Theo woke up. 

_This is probably my last morning on Earth_, he thought dismally, lying in his bed and staring up at the cracked and water-stained ceiling. _They probably already fired me, sometime last night._

But for some reason, he found the motivation to roll out of bed and dress anyway.

He trudged down the stairs and found the angel in the back room, as usual. "So?" he asked.

Aziraphale blinked at him, almost guiltily. "Er, no word."

"What?"

"I haven't heard a peep from Up There all night."

Theo was momentarily taken aback. He hadn't made any other plans for the morning, other than leaving Earth forever. Now, all of a sudden, he didn't know what to do with himself. But then his stomach grumbled noticeably, telling him exactly what it thought he should do.

"Um, if that's the case, then," he said, somewhat embarrassed, "it means that I still have time for a last meal, right? Before I have the spend the rest of eternity eating holy manna, that is."

Aziraphale seemed afraid to look at him, all of a sudden. Instead, he looked away. "I, er, I don't have anything left in this place, not fit to eat, that is. Shall we go out for some breakfast?" And then, "Oh, no, I forgot. Mr. Edwards will be here any minute. I should stay in and wait for him, and--"

"I can go by myself. Should I bring you something back?"

Now Aziraphale did look at him, and the expression on his face was nakedly hurt. "You don't want to go with me?"

Theo sighed. Half frustration, half apology. "I haven't not been anywhere with you for the last two weeks. No offense, or anything. But I sort of... I dunno, I just want some time to make some last memories for myself. If this really is my last morning on Earth, then... You know... I want to spend it out there, with or without you. But definitely not in here. I've spent enough time in here."

"Oh. All right." Aziraphale tried to give him that same wan, trembly smile that Theo remembered from yesterday. "Be careful, though. Look both ways before you cross the street, and, er, don't talk to strangers, and, oh, here, I have some money for you..."

Theo took the money and left as quickly as he could. He couldn't stand another second of listening to the horrible tone of defeat, of resignation, in the angel's voice.

* * *

Theo was out the front door of the bookshop at 8:35. He took a deep breath, breathing in the cold January morning air, and set out on his walk. He had every intention of prolonging his walk, and of stopping to eat at the farthest possible restaurant that he could walk to. It was probably his last walk on good old Earth, anyway - he might as well enjoy it. 

At 8:45, Paul Edwards parked his car at the curb in front of his shop, and without even stopping off at his own home first, ran straight next door, and stopped in front of the door to the bookshop. It was locked; the sign in the window said 'Closed.' Still, Edwards didn't let that deter him. He knocked as loudly and as rudely on the door as he possibly could, calling out "Mr. Phale! Mr. Phale! It's me - Paul! I've come back for Margie!!"

He thought he heard a dog barking, the sound coming from somewhere within the bookshop. Then he thought, nah.

The door opened, and there stood Mr. Phale, with the most horribly chagrined expression on his face. "Er, hello, Mr. Edwards, good morning, nice day we're having today, isn't it?"

Edwards resisted the urge to push the other man aside. He wanted to see his cat. "Mr. Phale, hi, listen, I'm really sorry about dumping Margie on you for two weeks, but I--"

"--Would like to see her right now?" Mr. Phale stood aside. "Come on in. I'll take your coat. Would you like a spot of tea, something warm to drink? It's terribly cold outside."

Mr. Edwards entered gladly, handed over his coat, turned, and saw the dog.

He gasped. "My word. I didn't know you had such a magnificent dog! St. Bernard, is he? He's lovely. Look at the size of him! Is he new? He must be, I never heard any dogs around here before. I hope he got along all right with Margie. Speaking of Margie... Where is she? Is she outside? Upstairs?"

Mr. Phale hung up Edwards' coat, and then gave him a long, long look.

Then he said, "Mr. Edwards, I'm terribly sorry, but you never had a cat."

"Oh." He blinked. "I guess I didn't." He scratched his head. "Er, what did I come in here for again?"

"Oh, no, that's not right." Mr. Phale clucked his tongue in frustration, then said, "All right, let's try this. You had a cat, a lovely cat named Margie, but she ran away, and--"

"Sh-sh-she ran away?!" Edwards' face fell. He felt his legs begin to wobble beneath him. "Oh... Oh no..."

"No, no, no, I take that back!" Mr. Phale said frantically. "No, no, you do have a cat, her name is Margie, and she's still here, she's just... She's just... Er... She's just... "

Mr. Edwards stared at him, his eyes glazed, his mouth hanging slightly open, breathing slowly and deeply, waiting.

Finally Aziraphale threw his up hands in frustration and told the ceiling above him, "This is pointless! I can't mess with his mind like this. It isn't right! He deserves the truth." Aziraphale turned back toward Mr. Edwards, whose eyes were clearing, who was blinking slowly, dreamily, like a man waking up from a deep slumber. He started gazing around in a slightly befuddled manner, and Aziraphale said, "Mr. Edwards, please, there's something that I have to tell you."

"Hmm?"

"I haven't been, er... During the time that I've known you, I haven't been, er, very honest with you, I'm afraid." He stepped closer to the other man. "I have something that I need to say to you." He took a deep breath. "This isn't easy for me to say, and quite frankly, it's quite forbidden for me to say it to someone like you at all, but I think that, under the circumstances, it's the only thing I can do."

There must have been something on Mr. Phale's face that looked absolutely wretched, because at that moment, despite himself, Edwards stepped closer to the other man, closing the distance between them, and placed his hand on Mr. Phale's shoulder. "Oh, dear," he said softly, "is something the matter?"

Mr. Phale licked his lips. He coughed, softly, clearing his throat. "I have something that I need to confess," he said, somewhat apologetically, even a tad shyly.

And then a funny thing happened.

* * *

Aziraphale gazed up into Mr. Edwards' eyes and thought,_ Oh, my. I never noticed this before, but they really are a lovely shade of brown._

Brown the wrinkled, aging leather binding of his favorite edition of the Buggre Alle This Bible. Brown like the musty fur coat of his favorite horse from the seventeenth century. Brown like the lovely little brown mice that he liked to let run rampant in the shop because they scared away customers, as long as they agreed not to eat any books. Brown like the graceful brown spiders that spun such beautiful webs all over the upper story. Brown like the deep brown caramel glaze baked on top of his favorite sweet rolls from the bakery down the street. Brown like German chocolate cake. Brown like bars of creamy milk chocolate. Chocolate. Chocolate. Aziraphale could think of nothing but chocolate. Good enough to eat. So sweet, so comforting, so seductive, so tempting. So exciting. He felt his breath beginning to come in short little gasps.

For the first time in a long time, Aziraphale realized that his heart was beating.

And now that he had started noticing the amazing beauty of Mr. Edwards' lovely brown irises, he couldn't stop noticing it, that same amazing beauty, built into all the rest of him. His long, brown, golden-blonde eyelashes. The soft, silky strands of his darkish-blonde hair. The way that his soft, lovely skin hugged his face and crinkled and creased in all the right corners. The graceful curve of his nose; the glistening of his lips; the deep shadows of his neck. His earlobes, so coyly asymmetrical, one attached completely to his head, the other waggling daringly free.

It was amazing.

_So beautiful,_ Aziraphale thought, beginning to tremble slightly, _So beautiful! Why didn't I ever notice it before?! He's so beautiful. Humans are so beautiful_! And suddenly, Aziraphale craved more - more of that incredibly beauty. Suddenly, it wasn't enough just to be standing close to Mr. Edwards and staring at him, drinking him in with his eyes. Aziraphale wanted to experience more of that beauty - to breathe in the scent of his living skin, to run his perfectly-manicured fingers through Mr. Edwards' incredible hair, to taste the salt on his flesh with his own two lips, to--

"Mr. Phale, are you all right?"

_Like chocolate,_ he thought, and then he couldn't stop himself anymore.

Aziraphale raised his hands. With one hand he ran his fingers through Mr. Edwards' hair; with the other, he softly touched Mr. Edwards' cheek. The touch was electric, jolting. He could feel things through Mr. Edwards' bare skin that no human hands could ever feel. He touched the thirteen-dimensional pricklings of Mr. Edwards' soul, and found himself only craving more, more.

More touch. More contact. Closer. More.

Aziraphale barely registered the way that Mr. Edwards' eyes were widening. "Your eyes," he whispered, his breath tickling against Mr. Edwards' face. "They're like chocolate."

And then Aziraphale kissed him.

* * *

The funny thing about miracles is, they can change people in ways that prevent them from ever realizing that they had ever been changed. Aziraphale had practiced enough miracling over the years to know this fact well; in fact, that had been the cause of most of his worrying last night. 

Aziraphale, as a general rule, didn't like to muck around with the type of miracles that could actually alter or change a human's personality. He felt that most of the time, that was unethical. He was perfectly fine with healing the sick and providing to the poor, those types of miracles were always good in his books. But forcibly changing the way a human would think or feel? That was just plain cheating. Aziraphale always said that he preferred humans to solve their own problems, to work to save their own souls; he could provide guidance and encouragement, and was always willing to give a bit of angelic advice (or a self-righteous lecture, as Crowley would have called it). But it was so much better when humans actually took it upon themselves to improve themselves and the world around them.

Crowley understood this principle; it was one of the few things that they agreed upon. Crowley knew perfectly well how important it was to encourage humans to damn their own souls. Oh, sure, he was usually quite willing to muck around with their brains and pull a few of what he called Jedi Mind Tricks every now and then. But that, he insisted, was just when he was having fun (or trying to get a rise out of Aziraphale). He never considered any of that business to be his serious work.

This was why, during the two previous weeks, Aziraphale had resolved to himself that he would never teach Theo any sort of codes that could let him do such dastardly things as alter the minds and hearts of humans. Their goal, as angels, was to change human behavior by really touching human hearts, through good deeds, kind words, and righteous examples. They were above resorting to cheap shortcuts.

Still, Aziraphale should have realized by then that what he had and hadn't taught Theo so far in no way limited the type of codes that Theo had accidentally, and spontaneously, built into his mutant miracle the previous day.

And Aziraphale definitely hadn't taught Theo the incredibly complex and sophisticated coding that was required to produce a variable time-delayed effect, either.

* * *

Paul Edwards, in all his years of swinging, had never, ever, not ever once had an experience that caused him to question his avowed heterosexuality. 

By the time the angel's tongue was sliding into his mouth, however, all he could think was, _Fuck being straight._

Fuck indeed.

* * *

Despite whatever conclusions most people tended to draw about the sexual life of Paul Edwards, based on the naked woman constructed of neon pink tube lighting hanging in the front window of his little porn shop, the truth of the matter was, it was a lot less exciting than most people tended to assume. 

In his younger years, that had been different. He had once been an active member of the industry and still had many close friends working on the production side of the business; however, as the decades had worn by, he had been increasingly content to limit himself to merely selling what others created. It was not that, as he aged, he had become any less attractive; he still had his natural hair color, all his teeth, a beautiful face, that lady-killer smile. But as he had aged he had simply found himself yearning for a slower, more peaceful life. Less excitement. Less emotional stress. Less histrionic prima-donna porn stars to deal with.

Still, he liked to consider himself a knowledgeable critic of the wares he sold. He watched a lot of porn.

He was currently finding himself embroiled in Generic Porn Video Scenario Number Five. (He kept a mental list of fifteen.) This one was The Normally Unassuming and Seemingly Innocuous Yet Suddenly Incredibly Sexy and Seductive Neighbor Next Door. Usually said neighbor was supposed to a be a sexually suppressed housewife, who would usually do at least one of the scenes wearing nothing but a lacy little apron tied around her front.

A dealer of rare and out-of-print books, however? That had never been done before, at least not to Edwards' knowledge.

_Wait a minute... Didn't I actually come here to pick up my cat?_

That thought was instantly banished from Edwards' brain the moment Mr. Phale slid his exquisitely manicured hand down into Edwards' trousers. Mr. Phale was also making the loveliest little gasping moans into Edwards' mouth.

* * *

Despite whatever conclusions most people tended to draw about the sexual life of Mr. Azira Phale, based on the way he dressed and the way he spoke and the way that he seemed to exhume gayness from his pores, the truth of the matter was, it was actually a lot more nonexistent than most people tended to assume. This was because Aziraphale was an angel. 

It was very clear, in Heaven's rulebook, that consorting between angels and humans was not forbidden, per se, but it did involve quite a lot of heavy breathing and usually the exchange of bodily fluids, which most angels were positively squeamish about. Aziraphale didn't mind breathing every now and then, but he was, just like any other angel, somewhat wary of any part of the human body that squished or squirted. Quite frankly, he'd never been able to see what all the fuss was about, and, to be perfectly honest, he'd never once, in all of his many centuries on Earth, felt any particular desire to make the effort to try it out himself.

There were just other, more interesting, things to occupy his attention with. Like books, and ducks, and the occasional sushi bar, and keeping Crowley in line.

Aziraphale had simply never tried anything like that before.

Neither, for that matter, had any other angel that had ever graced God's green Earth.

Well, that was all right, then. Aziraphale somehow usually found himself in the position of making historical firsts.

* * *

They whirled around the shop, kissing passionately, and crashed into a bookcase. Mr. Edwards pulled away from the kiss just long enough to gasp, "Bed!" 

"What?" Mr. Phale took the opportunity to lick Mr. Edwards' neck.

"Let's go -- up to your bed, right?"

"Don't have a bed," Mr. Phale mumbled, his mouth full of Mr. Edwards' earlobe (the wiggly free one, so delicious).

"We can't - oh! - can't do it here. There's the window in front - anyone on the street can see us--"

"No they can't," Mr. Phale said, and with a thought, it was so.

"Not clean here - there's dust everywhere - oh, oh, OH! That feel, uhn, hmm, good--"

"I won't let any dirt touch you." Mr. Phale forced Edwards down onto the floor. Dusty, hard, and wooden - at least, that's what Mr. Edwards' brain told him it was supposed to feel like. But it didn't. The floor suddenly felt amazingly soft and comfortable, like lying on a bed without lying on a bed.

Mr. Phale's elegant hands were undoing Edwards' belt as Mr. Phale sat up, straddling Edwards' hips. Edwards was trying to form a coherent thought in his brain, but it was increasingly difficult. Mr. Phale's skin smelled like cinnamon toast and his hair like tea with cream and lemon. He finished with pulling down Mr. Edwards' boxers, then quickly got to work on his own clothes. He was humming a tune low in his throat, something that Edwards vaguely recognized as a church hymn. Oooh, kinky.

"Paul," Mr. Edwards finally croaked. "Call me Paul."

"I beg pardon?" Mr. Phale flipped off his last layer of shirt. Edwards sucked in his breath. Mr. Phale's chest was gorgeous, perfect, beautiful, sculpted, not hard and obvious like the statue of David, but that was immediately the image that came to Edwards' mind, that impossible stone perfection, only this was softer and more real, so beautiful--

"Like an angel," he sighed.

"Yes, well, have to keep the upper body muscles in good shape. For the wings, of course. And those flaming swords are heavy."

But it was so surprising. Edwards had always assumed that his neighbor was, well, old. He seemed to radiate an aura of oldness - Edwards had somehow always felt that he was old enough to be his father. But now, peering up at his flushed, smiling face, Edwards saw that his curly-haired neighbor wasn't old at all. He was even a bit younger than Edwards himself - at least, there was nothing in the soft, smooth lines of his face that would indicate otherwise.

Still, there was that feeling, that pervasive feeling, that sense of oldness--

As if sensing his thoughts, Mr. Phale winked at him and said coyly, "A gentleman does not divulge his age." He leaned forward and down, and kissed Edwards on the lips again, deeply, passionately. His fine curly hair, lightly scented with tea and lemon, brushed against Edwards' scalp. "Paul," he moaned into Edwards' mouth. "Paul, Paul, Paul, Paul." He trailed kisses down Edwards' neck, causing him to arc his back and moan. "Paul, that was always one of my favorite names."

"And your name," he managed to gasp, "Mr. Phale?"

"Just Aziraphale," he said, and then resumed kissing Edwards' neck.

"Aziraphale Phale?" Edwards' tongue stumbled over the syllables. He felt as if his brain had migrated significantly south and he now seemed capable of thinking only with his other head.

A laugh. "No, that would be too silly. I'm Just Aziraphale."

"I never heard a name like Aziraphale before," Edwards said. It was the first whole, coherent, grammatically correct sentence he had been able to string together since the kissing had started.

"It's foreign."

"Ah."

"Hmm." Aziraphale made a ponderous sound, low in his throat, then straightened up again, and decided apparently to finished unclothing himself before going any further.

Edwards was blushing furiously all over his body. "I, um," he said, fighting to get his breath back, "I've never done this with another man before."

"Don't worry. Neither have I."

"But... You're so... forward..."

"I love you, Paul Edwards." Aziraphale gave him a brilliant, glowing smile. "I love all of God's creatures. Love love love love love. I love you so much I want to taste you, and touch you, and smell you, and hear you, and--"

As he said this, he finished pulling down the last of his undergarments. Edwards took one look at the impressively-sized equipment unveiled, and gasped faintly, "Holy..." He'd meant to say holy shit, but all of a sudden, he was overwhelmed by the desire to not use any foul language in front of his new lover.

Again, Aziraphale gave him that brilliant smile. "Yes, holy. Exactly."

His hands descended upon Edwards's shoulders, and before Edwards could protest, he found himself being flipped over onto his stomach.

* * *

Sometime later, Paul Edwards found himself lying naked, in a cooling puddle of his own sweat, on the dusty floor of the bookshop next door. It was still morning. His extraordinarily beautiful and seductive neighbor was lying beside him, holding his hand, smiling brilliantly in the general direction of the ceiling. Edwards was fairly sure that the enormous dog was lurking somewhere nearby, watching them attentively. 

"Wow," said Mr. Edwards.

"Wow," he said again.

"Wow," he said a third time, for lack of anything better to day.

That was the best sex he'd ever had. And he'd had a lot.

And then he said, "You know, this is kind of crazy, but I feel the sudden urge to go read the Bible."

Aziraphale beamed at him. "Congratulations, Paul. You've got the Holy Spirit."

Edwards turned his gaze toward the ceiling. It looked somewhat dirty, but he no longer cared. "You know what else?" he asked slowly. "I think I love Jesus."

Aziraphale also turned his smile back up toward the ceiling again. "Which is interesting, really," he said, pausing to scratch the side of his nose. "I suppose it's a bit of a side effect, if you will. Fascinating, really. I never expected that I could, doing this, have that kind of an effect on people. Absolutely fascinating. I'd just, er, I'd just never tried this with anybody before. Well. Who knew?"

Edwards felt his head swimming. "What are you talking about?" he asked fuzzily.

"Paul Edwards, I just Saved your immortal soul." And then, almost apologetically, "I never expected that to happen, mind you, but now that it has, aren't we both the better for it?"

Edwards rolled over slightly and stared at his neighbor, drinking in the sight of his lovely, pale, nude body with his eyes. It was strange, really. For some reason he'd always thought of Aziraphale as old, and slightly fat. But the person that he was looking at now was, although certainly no green twig, at least not nearly as ancient as Edwards had always assumed he would be. And not fat, either. Not even really pudgy. There were such smooth, well-developed, wonderfully-shaped muscles lining his entire body. _Like David_, Edwards thought again, and then quickly pushed that thought out of his head. No, that was wrong. Not like David at all - Aziraphale was softer, less sculpted, but somehow more real, and more perfect, because of it. _Perfection._ Yes, now that he looked hard, Edwards could see that it was true. There was a layer of soft flesh and perhaps even a bit of flab smoothing over the strong muscles beneath the skin. But why had he ever thought that Aziraphale was actually fat? Maybe it had something to do with his short height, or his stubby fingers (which really were somewhat pudgy), or his button nose, or the way that he always seemed to be wearing thirteen or so layers of clothing. Yes, thought Edwards with some amusement, it was probably all an effect of the thirteen or so layers of clothing, more so than anything else. Once the clothes came off, it was as if an entirely different person had been underneath, all along.

"You're so beautiful," Edwards said, bending over to brush his lips against Aziraphale's cheek. "Why all the camouflage?"

"Camouflage?"

"All that clothing." Edwards sighed. "I mean, look at you. You could be a model. Or a pin-up. Or a centerfold." _Perfection,_ he thought again. It was the little imperfections of Aziraphale's body - the squat height, the stubby fingers, the button nose - that seemed to combine to make him even more beautiful than he would have been otherwise.

Aziraphale gazed up at him with his amazingly clear blue eyes. "Yes, well, we angels generally tend toward being nice to look at," he said without a trace of modesty.

"I love a guy with a sense of humor." Edwards rolled over and sat up. He winced, stretching. He should, he realized, have been absolutely filthy - the dirt-crusted floor that his sweaty flesh had been lying against was certainly filthy enough. But he was as clean as a whistle, albeit not at all dry.

"Oh," said Aziraphale, "Are you going?"

"I should clean off--"

"But I want more," he suddenly said, plaintively, sitting up beside Edwards and reaching out to grasp his arm. "This is too good to stop now! It's my first time doing this and I never knew - I never knew! - it could be so good. This is too lovely! I need more, I need--"

Edwards placed a finger against Aziraphale's lips and said, "Hush." Aziraphale fell silent, but there was still something hungry in his eyes. _Insatiable,_ Edwards thought with amusement. _Stereotypical Porno Movie Character Trait Number Six._ He kept a mental list of ten. "Listen... This is lovely, but, I'm getting old, I can feel it right now more than ever, and I don't know if my ticker could take another, er, another, you know, not if it's with you."

Aziraphale cocked his head at Edwards in an adorably curious gesture. "Oh, I didn't mean with you."

Edwards was momentarily taken aback with the bluntness of the statement.

"I meant," Aziraphale continued, "I must do this with more humans. I've already Saved your soul. But there are so many other lovely people out there, so many other souls to Save, and I want to touch them all, I want to taste them all, I want to--"

By now, Edwards was grinning. "You want to spend some quality time exploring your sexuality? You've come to the right guy. I know people... I could hook you up with the right people, if you'd like."

"I thought as much." A sly, knowing smile. "So let's do it. Let's go. Now."

"Er, right this moment?"

"Yes, absolutely. I must start right away."

"You really are something, you know that?" Edwards sighed, but it was a soft little sigh of contentment. "All right, fine. Let's get some clothes on, I'll make some phone calls. Are you absolutely certain that you'd like to try some more, er, casual encounters?"

"Yes. Yes. Oh, yes." Aziraphale's grin was starting to become slightly maniacal. "I love all of God's creatures. I should Save all of God's creatures." He was hugging himself, and if Edwards didn't know any better, he'd even say that his neighbor was glowing a bit. Aziraphale seemed enraptured by the ecstasy of his own thoughts. "There's so much beauty, so much love in the world! I want to take it all in, I want to try it all out, I want to feel it all over me, I want to be touching it with my entire body, I want to Save all the poor beautiful souls in the world..."

"Right. Um, okay." Edwards began pulling on his shirt, and fumbled in one pocket for his wireless phone.

Not less than fifteen minutes later, they were both fully dressed and ready to leave. As Edwards took Aziraphale's hand and pulled him out the front door, he was amazed to see that, with all of his clothes back on, the other man looked just as short and fat and old and unassuming as he ever had. "You know," Edwards said, with some amazement in his voice, "I never, ever would have pegged you as the type to go for this sort of stuff. Never in a million years."

"You don't look it, either," Aziraphale laughed lightly. "Paul Edwards, my normal, unassuming, buttoned-up next-door neighbor. Who would have ever thought that you led such a beautifully wild sexual life?"

"I told you, I haven't, not for years," Edwards said again as he led Aziraphale to his car, still parked at the curb. "These are just some old friends of mine I'd like to introduce you to. Some of them are the industry, you know, but don't let that deter you, they would never dream of exploiting--"

"The industry?" Aziraphale's ears perked up instantly. "What industry?"

By that time, both of them were sufficiently distracted to have both forgotten something terribly important. Edwards had forgotten entirely that he had ever stopped by Aziraphale's home to pick up his long-ago left behind cat. Aziraphale, for his part, had completely and utterly forgotten about his apprentice Theo, whom he had sent off for breakfast sometime earlier that morning...

...And who had never yet returned.

Had he been in his right state of mind, Aziraphale would have been worried. In fact, he would have been more than worried - he would have been smart enough to know for a certainty that something had just gone terribly, terribly wrong.

But, thanks to Theo's little miracle, Aziraphale was no longer entirely in his right state of mind. And he was slipping further and further from it by the minute.

* * *

If something hadn't gone terribly, terribly wrong when Theo had been walking back to the bookshop after his late breakfast that morning, he would most definitely have walked right in on the angel and his neighbor copulating furiously all over the dust-covered floor of the main area of the shop, a scenario which would have created a whole new and quite interesting set of problems. 

Fortunately enough, Theo never made it back to the bookshop. Because something went terribly, terribly wrong.

He was walking back home along the crowded, slushy sidewalk when a large hand suddenly descended out of nowhere and grabbed the collar of his coat, forcibly yanking him back into the shadows of a dark alleyway. Theo cried out - he gave a great, big, bellowing yell of protest, in fact. But not a soul seemed to notice. The humans kept walking back and forth along the sidewalk, not a single one of them even batting an eyelash at the sight of the young boy being pulled into the alley or at the sound of his frightened cry.

Theo felt himself being spun around roughly, and then his face was slammed painfully into a cold brick wall. Dirty snow piled up in a drift around his legs. "YOU!" a furious voice accused him, a voice lower and deeper and more terrifyingly inhuman than any Theo had ever heard before.

_Oh_, thought Theo, suddenly feeling more frightened and confused and horrifyingly angelic than he ever had before in his entire afterlife, _Oh, dear._

* * *

Continued. 


	10. Chapter 09

Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended upsomehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!

* * *

Ordinary Miracles

by Nenena

* * *

Chapter 09

Brooks, Terry. 1997. Running With the Demon. Ballantine Books, New York. PS3552.R6596 R86

* * *

Theo struggled against the enormous hands pushing him against the brick wall. Every hair on the back of his neck was standing on end, and somewhere in the back of his brain, his newly-acquired sixth sense was screaming at him, _Demon! Demon! Demon! You are in the presence of a demon!_

_Thanks, brain,_ Theo thought darkly. _I think I figured that out already._

Theo felt the enormous hands turning him over again, and now he was still pinned against the wall, but facing his adversary for the first time. Theo gulped, trying to narrow in the focus of his eyesight, trying to concentrate on one thing at a time, trying to ignore the feeling of warm blood dribbling from his nose and congealing on his face and freezing to his upper lip. First he got a good look at the hands holding him down - enormous, far larger than any human being's hands had ever been, but oddly colored, slightly reddish, and tipped with sharp, black, claw-like fingernails. Theo's gaze followed the length of the arms attached to those hands. His assailant was wearing a thick black winter coat that Theo recognized from a recent L.L. Bean catalog (he was, after all, a Minnesotan). This surreal detail did nothing to ally Theo's fear as his gaze slipped up into the stranger's face. It was a handsome, beautiful, unreal face - like a masque of a face - twisted into a hideous expression of bottomless rage. Red eyes glowed at him with all the heat of the fires of Hell burning behind the irises. The stranger breathed in and out, deeply, angrily, and little puffs of flame burst from his nostrils. His teeth, bared in a snarl, were all very, very sharp - and there were multiple rows of them, like shark's teeth. His wild red hair fell in long, unruly clumps all across his forehead and down behind his pointed ears. His whole body, not just his hands, was enormous. He was a giant. He was so monstrous and so tall that he blotted out whatever thin winter sunlight was managing to penetrate the dark alleyway with his black, heavy shadow.

His head was huge, his mouth was huge, he was certainly large enough to swallow Theo whole, he was certainly about to swallow Theo whole, he was--

"Sir," said a second voice, a calm, cold female voice, from somewhere behind him. "Sir, the boy is bleeding."

"Oh dear." And just like that, the enormous stranger suddenly wasn't so enormous anymore. In fact, he was quite an average-sized man, with average-shaped ears and an average number of (sharp) little teeth in his mouth, a suddenly somewhat concerned man wearing a black L.L. Bean coat. There had been no sense of change, no sense of deflation or shrinking; one moment he had simply been a terrible red and black giant blotting out the sun, and the next, he was just a man wiping Theo's bloody lip with a handkerchief that appeared out of nowhere. "Oh dear, oh my, er, terribly sorry about that. I didn't mean to draw blood."

"Remember, sir, we mustn't harm him," said the second voice again. "At least not until he signs the deposition papers, of course."

"Thank you, Pauline." The man put away his handkerchief. Theo tried to bolt, but the man's one hand left still pinning him to the wall was so strong that he could hardly move. "Now, then, where was I? Oh yes. Yelling at you." His eyes began to glow red again. "YOU!" he repeated, his voice dropping several octaves and suddenly loud enough to shake the foundations of the buildings that they were sandwiched between with its reverberating rumbles. "YOU CONNIVING, SNIVELING LITTLE BASTARD OF HEAVENSPAWN! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE?!"

Theo's ears were ringing, and his thoughts were swimming in a haze of pain. "Er, uh... No... What? Who are you people?"

The red-eyed man was so taken aback by this question that all of a sudden, the glow in his eyes vanished. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said," Theo began again, taking a deep breath and feeling the first twinges of anger starting to bring back his courage, "Who ARE you people?! What's the big idea, slamming me around and yelling at me until my eardrums pop? HUH?!"

The red-haired man, who now had only very black, black eyes, squinted at him curiously. "Astounding. They really don't teach you anything Up There at all anymore, do they?" He sighed. "Do not you know who I am?!"

"No." Theo glowered at him. "I bet you're some sort of kidnapper or child molester or something, though."

"Only on occasion." The red-haired man was smiling a terrible, terrible smile. "Very well, then. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Satan. Also known as Abbadon, the Adversary, the Angel of the Bottomless Pit, the Father of Lies, the Great Red Dragon, the Tempter, and the Wicked One. Known in some circles as the Morningstar. My friends call me Lucifer." He gestured to his side. "And this is my lawyer, Pauline."

Pauline stepped forward so that Theo could see her. She was a tall, sharp, severe woman wearing an open fur coat and a gray Donna Karen suit underneath. Her frizzy blond hair was pulled back into a tight bun on top of her head, exposing her curled, pointed ears - almost horn-like - and the black pearl earrings that she wore, perfectly matching the string of black pearls around her neck. Her eyes were large and deep black, and pupil-less, like the Devil's eyes, only beautifully shaped, and much prettier. She was wearing a gold-rimmed pair of glasses, and when she pulled back her red lips and smiled, Theo saw that her teeth would have been normal if not for the prominent canine fangs. She nodded slightly to Theo and said, "How do you do." Theo noticed that she was carrying a thick leather briefcase.

Theo tore his gaze away from Pauline and stared up at the face of the Adversary. "Um... Are you really the Devil? You're not joking?"

"This is absolutely not a joke."

"Oh," said Theo softly. Then an utter and complete panic finally seized him, and his heart stopped.

The Devil stared at him a moment, tapping his foot impatiently. Then he sighed and said, "Quit playing dead. Your heart doesn't need to be beating, you know."

Theo stared up and him and said slowly, "Oh. I forgot."

"I don't know how an idiot like you ever managed to..." His voice trailed off, and he tsked at himself. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean the insult."

Theo blinked at him. "Wait a minute. What do you mean, you didn't mean to insult me?"

"Er... "

"Aren't you supposed to be evil incarnate?"

"Normally, yes." Again, that sigh. "And therein lies the problem. Pauline, would you be so kind as to show our young friend Exhibit A?"

"Of course, sir." Pauline set her briefcase down in the snow, and Theo peered closely at it, realizing that there was no opening - no zipper or clasps or locks or anything. It was just a block of solid leather. Then Pauline slipped her hand down near the top, and a mouth opened up in the leather, a horrible, red-rimmed mouth lined with dozens of stubby, rotting, yellow teeth. Pauline slid her hand right into the maw of that mouth and pulled it out a moment later, holding a glass mason jar full of jiggly, glittering goo. The mouth on her briefcase vanished. "This," she said, "is Exhibit A, from what is soon to become Hell vs. Theo-Who-Does-Not-Yet-Have-a-Decent-Angelic-Name. It is a small sample of the harmless portion of your illegal miracle that you turned loose in the Five Hundred and Twenty-Ninth Circle yesterday evening. It is only harmless in the sense that it has no numbers floating in it; hence, no ability to produce changes in anything it touches." She held the jar closer for Theo's inspection. "You recognize this gelatinous substance, do you not?"

"Yeah," he said, "That's miracle-slime. So what?"

The Devil stared at him, positively aghast. "What do you mean, 'so what'?! Do you have any idea--"

"My angel told me," Theo tried to explain, calmly, reasonably, "that even though the miracle did slip down into Hell - and it did that on its own, it was a total accident, I had nothing to do with that in the first place - even if it did slip down into Hell, it wouldn't last more than a few minutes. Don't you demons have, I dunno, defenses or something that could destroy an invader like that?"

Pauline blinked with surprise, then turned to the Devil. "He's telling the truth, sir. He really has no idea. Still, that doesn't change anything. We'll just re-file the papers. Instead of a Class A Infernal Felony, we can hit him for Unholy Negligence."

"That's disappointing. There's no way the punishments in the Negligence category can even begin to compensate for the catastrophic--"

"Catastrophic?!" Theo squeaked. He glanced from one demon to the other and finally asked, in a slightly shaky voice, "Um, I'm terribly sorry, but... What exactly did the miracle DO Down There?"

And then, the Devil began trembling. "It changed everything. Everything!!"

"Sir, get a hold of yourself--"

"No!" Satan finally let go of Theo's shoulder and began pulling at his wild red hair with both of his hands, an expression of terrible, bottomless grief twisting his beautiful face. "We tried to stop it - we tried everything to stop it! But it kept going, it kept coming, it was so fast, it plowed through all the circles, it swallowed all my demons, and it changed, oh it changed, it changed everything and everyone that it touched--" He slumped to his knees in the snow, now dangerously close to sobbing. "It reached the Bottom hours ago and by then even I couldn't stop it, it tried to take me in but Pauline pulled me out at the last minute, but it was still too late, it was too late by then, it had been all over me and it took my favorite pitchfork and I--" He hitched back a sob. "Because of the time-delay effect I didn't start feeling the changes until just a little bit ago, but by then, Pauline was the only demon I had left, and we had to escape, we escaped while we still could, and we ran all the way Up here, and we--" He finally lost it, breaking down into weeping sobs and covering his face with one arm. "It's ruined, ruined! My beautiful kingdom and all of my demons are RUINED!!"

"There, there, sir," Pauline said gently, lying one slender, clawed hand on his shoulder. "There's still hope, remember? The time-delay effect means that we can still reverse the changes, since we still have forty-eight hours before they become permanent."

Theo stared at them both, completely flabbergasted. Here he was, stuck back in a dark alleyway on a snowy London street in the middle of broad daylight, watching the Adversary himself, the great Fallen angel, Lucifer Morningstar, breaking down into a puddle of sobbing, hysterical demonic goo. The Devil was displaying a show of histrionics, the likes of which Theo thought only actually happened in soap operas on television. Theo licked his lips, cleared his throat, and asked nervously, "Um... What kind of changes, exactly, are you talking about?"

The Devil managed to quiet down his sobbing, drop his arm, stare up at Theo, and say, with tears still running down his face, "At first we weren't sure. The miracle touched nearly every demon in the upper Four- and Five-Hundred circles before it started its real descent. By then, everybody down below was too preoccupied with trying to organize defenses to hear anything about what was happening to the survivors up above. And it took time, of course, for the changes to be noticeable - because of the time-delay effect. Sometimes it would take hours to affect a particular individual, but... The end was always the same. First, the demons in the Five-Hundred circles sent me a mass declaration that they were tired of torturing the souls of the damned for all eternity, and they thought it would be nice to give all those souls a break, you know, take them out for a week at Disneyland or something. I couldn't believe it. A break! They wanted to give the eternally damned a fucking - excuse me, an effing break!! Then I got word of how the Four-Hundred circles were being redecorated by the demons there. They said that red and black were 'out' colors, and that they were sick of all the fire, it was too hot and uncomfortable for the damned human souls. By the time I heard about the bright sunshine and fields of daisies and fluffy white clouds they were installing all over the place, I knew that something was wrong. The demons in the Three-Hundred circles actually had the gall to send me a collective two-week's notice before they formed a club to campaign for Peace on Earth and held hands and joined in a circle and started singing Kum-Bay-Yah. Some of my field agents that had been on vacation in the upper circles signed a resolution that instead of returning to Earth to tempt people to do evil, they would return to Earth to tempt people to donate to charities and be kind to one another and promote world peace instead. By that time, I was trying to send out my higher-ranking servants to join the front lines of the resistance, to try to keep the miracle from coming any further Down than it already was. But that turned out to be a mistake - the miracle kept plowing right through them, and nothing that I or anybody else did seemed able to stop it. Shortly thereafter, three of my High Council members told me that they were off to Tibet to become monks and seek Buddha's path of enlightenment; a fourth decided to quit because he felt that his time and energy would be better spent helping starving children in Africa; a fifth was trying to tell me that we should spend more time being friendly to all the damned souls and listening to their problems, instead of just torturing them over and over again for all eternity. I bit his head off, but that didn't make me feel any better. I was losing demons left and right. Beelzebub finally sent me a bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates and a long, handwritten, heart-felt letter about how I had been the best boss ever for the past six thousand years and how he was really, really grateful to have had the opportunity to work with me for so long, but that didn't I feel that our world-domination vision was slightly outdated and that my incomparable genius could be better used if we all plotted to work for world peace instead? I had a chance to see him once, towards the end, before it was all over, and he was wearing flowers on his horns and peace signs sewn all over his clothing. And Beelzebub has NEVER worn clothing before, not once in all the thousands of years that I've ever known him!! I tried stabbing at him with my pitchfork, trying to knock some sense back into him, but he kept dodging around and laughing it off and saying 'Ha ha, good one sir, you know I'll always love you!' When I saw the miracle finally coming for me, when I was waiting for it at the Bottom and I knew that I had no other demons left, I thought that was the end of it, for me. And it nearly was - like I said, it swallowed most of me up before Pauline swooped in and grabbed my wrist and pulled me out. She was the only one who had avoided touching it, so far - because she was a good runner and a good hider, you understand. Spineless lawyers always are. So we escaped - it broke my heart, but we had to leave Hell behind - and now here we are. And I-- I--" He took a deep, hitching breath, yet again. "I know I was changed, just like all the others were. At first I was so angry at Pauline, I was so furious, I blamed her for not coming in quickly enough, for not saving me fast enough. So I grabbed her and held her down and tried to rip her open with my claws, but all of a sudden, at the last minute, I couldn't... I couldn't... I couldn't bring myself to do it! And I-- I ended up hugging her and giving her a kiss and apologizing instead!!"

"He did," affirmed Pauline, nodding somberly. "Kissed me right on my cheek."

"Don't you see what happened?!" the Devil wailed miserably, turning his tear-streaked face up toward Theo. "Your miracle - your horrible, awful, illegal mutant miracle - took in all of my demons, and turned them all GOOD!"

Theo couldn't believe his ears. "It... It did what?"

"I TRY to be evil!" the Devil sobbed again, ignoring Theo completely. "I try and try and try, but it never works anymore! Ever since we escaped Down There late last night, I haven't been able to do anything but good! This whole morning has been a miserable string of good deeds, no matter how many times I try to do something bad. I tried to push a little old lady into the street, and I ended up taking her arm and helping her cross instead! I tried to tempt a priest to satisfy his lust with a young boy, and I ended up giving him tips on how to fundraise more effectively for charities instead! And every time - every time - e-e-every time I think about all that's happened so far, I start c-c-c-crying l-l-like a l-l-little g-g-g-g-girl--" He broke off, wailing again.

Pauline patted his shoulder again. "There, there, sir," she repeated, although her voice sounded somewhere between bored and insincere. Then she shot an icy glare at Theo and said, "We came here to make a bargain with you, boy. Because of the time-delay effect you built into your miracle, we have approximately forty-eight hours before any changes effected by your miracle become permanent. The only way to undo what has been done is to find the miracle and destroy it before that deadline. We feel, very strongly, that since it was you who created and turned that monster loose in the first place, it should be YOU who takes responsibility for finding it and destroying it."

Theo felt his legs wobble underneath him. "So, um," he asked faintly, "So what's your bargain?"

"Do it. Before forty-eight hours has passed. If you succeed, we might consider NOT taking revenge upon you. But if you fail..." Pauline smiled prettily, showing off her long, sharp fangs. "If you fail, I will personally skin you alive, chop you up into little pieces, stuff you inside the skins of your own innards, and serve you as a tasty sausage treat to the kindergartners at a Catholic parish school of your choice. And then I will sue you."

"Can you sue me, er, post-humously?"

"Little boy," she said, still smiling that terrible smile, "You're already dead. There is no such thing as post-humously anymore."

Theo gulped. "Um, um, I dunno. I dunno if I can do that by myself. I mean, uh... I don't even know where to start looking."

"We don't know where the miracle is, either," the Devil said morosely, having finally managed to stop himself from weeping again. "Last we saw it, it was at the Bottom, but... It surely must have moved on by now. There are no untouched targets left for it Down There. And the only direction it could possibly go is up." He sighed. "We assume that it will eventually make its way back here again, but... There's a chance, and a good chance, that a smart, powerful miracle like that one might not just stop at Earth. If it already took Hell, it might try going farther Up next time. Get my drift?"

"Er, no."

"Heaven, you idiot," Pauline snapped testily. "We think your miracle might try to make its way up to Heaven. It has to stop by this planet on its way first, though. WE need to make sure that we can catch it and kill it when it does."

Theo stared at them both. "What's so bad about it going up to Heaven?"

"Listen," said the Devil, seriously, "If your miracle turns demons good, what do you think that it would do to a bunch of angels?"

"Maybe... Make them more good?"

The Devil slapped his forehead. "No, of course not!"

"It would make good angels go bad," Pauline explained, stabbing her finger accusingly at Theo. "From what we've been able to analyze from leftover samples of the miracle's mass, the foundational coding of the change-producing matrix is something along the lines of--"

" 'Make things different'?" Theo supplied helpfully.

She raised one eyebrow at him. "Yes, exactly. It makes things different than they normally are."

"But it wouldn't affect angels that way," Theo said quickly. "I would know. My angel - er, my teacher - he was touched by the miracle yesterday afternoon. Swallowed him whole, in fact. But he seemed just fine, just like always."

"Listen, we've been telling you, there's a time-delay effect--"

"But you said that it wouldn't take too long, right? I was with my angel all last night and I even talked to him again this morning. He was perfectly nice and perfectly good, just like usual. He seemed perfectly normal."

"Oh," said the Devil sarcastically, "He SEEMED perfectly normal. Oh, okay, sure. Ted Bundy and Hannibal Lecter SEEMED like perfectly nice and normal gentlemen too, and the thing is, they really were, unless you started asking questions about their leisure-time hobbies. I hate to break this to you, kid, but your angel is probably a serial killer by now. How do you know that he wasn't out murdering someone while you were sleeping last night? How do you know that he isn't taking an axe or a chainsaw to his next-door neighbor right now? He didn't happen to offer you anything unusual to eat for breakfast this morning, did he? Did you notice any bloody clothes or rusty pieces of farm equipment stowed away in any dark corners? Did he--"

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no!" Theo covered his ears and shook his head furiously. "There wasn't any of that! He's still good! I know he's still good! Well, er, that is, as good as he normally is, which, really, personally, I've never thought was all THAT good, but still... Aziraphale would never hurt anybody! And I think he'd be squeamish about blood, anyway."

"Ah," said Pauline. "He'll use arsenic, then."

"Would you stop?!"

"It's your fault," she continued. "Your miracle made him that way."

"Shut up!"

"Remember, though, you can still save him," the Devil added, soothingly. "Provided that you get to work RIGHT NOW."

Theo shook his head again. "I can't. Not by myself. I'm not even an angel yet - I don't have any useful powers! I need--"

"We'll help you," the Devil said.

Pauline gasped in surprise. "Sir!"

"Well, we have to!" The Devil gestured helplessly with his hands. "Well, look at him! Look at that cute, pathetic little face. I'd feel bad if we just left him--"

"Sir, that's not you talking, that's the miracle goo talking."

"That, and the fact that I don't trust this little idiot to do it right without the aid of some experienced professional supernatural beings at his side," said Devil quickly.

Pauline nodded approvingly. "That's more like it, sir."

"I may not be able to be very evil anymore," the Devil proclaimed, "But, by golly, I'm still ME, and I can turn this world upside down if that's what it takes to find our miracle!"

" 'By golly', sir?"

"Pauline, please slap me if I ever say that again. Or if I look like I'm starting to cry."

"Can do, sir."

Theo glanced from Pauline to the Devil and back again. "Um," he said hesitantly, "Um, I don't know if I'm allowed to accept help from you people. I mean, I am on the other side, you know."

The Devil glowered at Theo, and for a moment, Lucifer looked at least like a shadow of the dark and terrible thing he had once been. "Think about it, kid, and think carefully. The only way you have of getting OUT of the trouble you're ALREADY in with Heaven is to find and destroy the miracle before someone else has to take the responsibility to clean up your mess. The only way you have a chance in Hell, pardon my French, of doing anything of the sort, is if you have us helping you out." He pointed at Pauline. "She may be the only decent demon I have left, but Pauline is far better than nothing, and trust us, we demons are experts at, er, well, killing things. Or at least tearing them into little itty-bitty pieces and making them bleed a lot."

Theo gulped. "Um, she may not be the only demon you have left."

"What's that now?"

"There's a field agent of yours... In this city... But he was touched by the miracle yesterday, too, although I was talking to him right afterwards and he seemed just as awful as usual--"

"There's another demon?!" The Devil grabbed Theo and shook him roughly by the shoulders. "Here? In this city?! Why didn't you tell me before?!"

"I said, he was hit by the miracle yesterday--"

The Devil's face fell. "Drat. He's probably turned into some sort of peacenik vegan by now. Or run off to Tibet to live with Buddhist monks."

"But maybe not," Theo said hopefully. "I know this demon - he's completely terrible! He's the most awful, evil, horrible being I've ever met. It would take much more than even a miracle to get him to become a nice person."

The Devil raised one eyebrow at Theo, a nearly picture-perfect imitation of Pauline's earlier expression. "Hey. This miracle screwed ME up, remember? And you said you talked to him right after the incident, but that doesn't mean anything. Time-delay effect, remember? Any changes that occurred would probably have happened hours after his encounter with the miracle's mass."

"But Crowley is--"

"Crowley? Did you say his name was Crowley?"

"Alias Crawly, sir," Pauline supplied helpfully. "You left him in charge of bringing up your son, remember?"

"Ah, yes. Crawly." The Devil smiled nostalgically. Then his face fell again. "Er, um, you don't think he'll be, er, mad about our little, ah, falling-out last year?"

"Sir, you did try to kill him. And then you placed a bounty on his head and sent field-agents out to hunt for him so that you could drag him back down to the Fifth Circle and have some fun with him and a barbecue spit. Then you let him off early to do something about the Chorus this year. Which, by the way, he didn't. In fact, you were telling me just last week how you'd like to call Crawly back down right away to finish off the rest of his sentence--"

"I know, I know," the Devil moaned wretchedly. "And now I feel just terrible about all of it - the attempted murder, the barbecuing, all the nasty things I yelled at him... Come to think of it, we haven't really been on good terms since the Spanish Inquisition." And then in a small, hurt little voice, the Devil opined, "I don't think he likes me very much." He sniffled.

Pauline reached over and slapped him across the face.

"Thank you, Pauline," he said gratefully. He turned his attention back to Theo, whose shoulders he was still holding. "Take me to this Crowley, boy. If your ridiculous idea that the miracle hasn't changed him is correct, then we will have one more demon on our side. If not, then I should probably have a little heart-to-heart with him anyway. I feel I owe him some apologies. For all the years of abuse and torture, you know."

"I don't think you owe him anything," Pauline pointed out coolly.

"It's worth a shot, regardless," the Devil said, finally taking his hands off Theo's shoulders and shrugging. "Well, come on then, boy! We must hurry - we don't have much time!"

Theo brushed off the shoulders of his coat, making a face. "My name is Theo, you know."

"Fine then, Theo. Let's be friends. You can call me Lucifer."

"I think I remember the way," Theo said, mentally recalling his first day back on Earth, when Aziraphale had taken him over to Crowley's flat to rescue his houseplants. "Okay, it's a long walk, but we can make it before noon. Let's go."

They set off, leaving the alley behind them, trudging on down the slushy sidewalks.

* * *

Continued. 


	11. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended upsomehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!

* * *

Ordinary Miracles

by Nenena

* * *

Chapter 10

Leyland, Winston, ed. 1977. Orgasms of Light. Gay Sunshine Press, San Francisco. PN6071.H724 O7

* * *

A friendly chime, followed by the discrete sound of extraordinarily polite elevator doors opening. Edwards and Aziraphale stepped out. John was waiting for them just outside the door marked with the number 542. He took one look at Edwards' flushed, smiling face, and the way that he laughed heartily when the other man whispered something into his ear, and shook his head in disbelief.

"Paul Edwards," he said, "as I live and breathe."

Edwards walked down towards him, grinning, the other man following him closely. "John!" he exclaimed happily, reaching out to shake John's hand. "Good to see you, man! How you been?"

"Chilly. I think Hell froze over this morning."

The other man - a rather short, unassuming man in a camel-hair coat - laughed at that line, and John raised one eyebrow at him. "You must be - let me see if I can say this right - Aziraphale. Aziraphale, is it?"

The other man gasped with delight. "That's bloody brilliant! Nobody ever gets it right the first time."

John turned toward Edwards, who was looking suddenly somewhat bashful. "I don't believe you, Paul. For twenty years you've been telling me you would never go all the way with another man, and then you have the gall to call me this morning and tell me--"

"I don't know how to explain it, John. You know that's never been my taste, but... There's something special about him, you know?"

"Oh, so now it's L-O-V-E?"

"Give me a break, John," Edwards muttered, obviously uncomfortable. Then he took Aziraphale's hand. "John," he told Aziraphale solemnly, "is the best matchmaker I know. If you want a hot date--"

Aziraphale nodded enthusiastically.

"--Then he's your man. Whatever your pleasure, whatever your fetish. John knows everyone and anyone. I'm going to run out and grab some lunch for us while he talks to you, okay? I'll be right back."

"Thank you," Aziraphale said, standing up on his tiptoes to give Edwards a quick kiss on the cheek. He let go of his hand and said, "Well, then, see you soon. Don't take too long!"

While Edwards turned to leave, John led Aziraphale inside 542 and closed the door behind them. It was a cozy little apartment with a comfortable sitting room immediately near the doorway. Aziraphale took a seat on an upholstered chair and glanced around, drinking in the surroundings with his unsettlingly clear blue eyes. John sat down across from him and coughed, clearing his throat.

"So," he said.

"Hmm?"

"So," he said again, "You're the one who did the impossible."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I've known plenty of men over the years who would have killed for a chance to get into Paul Edwards' trousers. He always insisted that he wouldn't swing that way, though." John sighed and settled back in his seat. "So let's get down to business. What's your pleasure?"

"Huh?"

"What sort of person would you like to try it with? What turns you on?"

"Let's see. I like... Er... I like people who look like desserts. And people with names like the Apostles."

"Okay." John rubbed his temples, as if trying to fend off a building headache. "Right, okay. I've heard weirder. When you say the Apostles, would you still count Judas? 'Cause I know a really fun guy named Judas who'd probably love to go out on a date with you. He's such a friendly guy, and a great dancer."

"Oh," said Aziraphale, with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I'm not interested in dinner or dancing or any of those unnecessary trimmings. I just need them to pull down their trousers so that I can Save their souls."

"You're very forward, aren't you?"

"Mr. Edwards said that to me, too. Er, Paul, I mean."

"Maybe," said John thoughtfully, "You should just take out a swinger's ad."

"A what?"

"It's like a personal ad, but without pretensions."

Aziraphale gave him a funny look.

"What? You know what I mean by 'pretensions,' don't you?"

"Yes, I know, but..." Now Aziraphale was definitely staring at him. "It's just that... It's funny how I never noticed it before... Your nose... It's such a funny, big red shape... Like a strawberry... It must taste very sweet... "

"Hey, uh, I'm just the matchmaker, I don't--"

But it was too late. Aziraphale had stood up and, in two swift steps, crossed the room already and then reached out to pin John down to his seat with his inexplicably powerful hands. When the first set of kisses started raining down upon his face, John gave up completely and thought, _What the hell. It's almost just like the good old days, isn't it? This sort of improbable scenario would be right at home in one of Bill's old porno movies._

"John, John, John, John," Aziraphale gasped out his name, smothering his face with kisses and then moving down to ravish his neck. "I love you, John. I love you so, so, so very much. Let me take you, John. Let me take you right here. Let me Save your soul."

* * *

Across town, another pair of elevator doors opened. These were decidedly less polite doors; they squeaked and groaned as they slid apart. Pauline and Theo stepped out into the hall; they were followed by Evil Incarnate, who was currently wringing his hands in consternation and whining at both of them.

"What if he's still mad at me about trying to kill him? What if he still hasn't forgiven me for the whole, er, barbecue thing last month? What if he doesn't like me? What if--"

"It's this one," Theo said as they stopped in front of a door.

Pauline raised one fist and rapped on the door sharply. "Mr. Crowley? Hello, are you there, Mr. Crowley?"

The door seemed to throw itself open; and the next Theo knew, Crowley had thrown his arms around him and was lifting him up, squeezing him in a big bear hug. "Theo! My favorite little angel in the whole world!" Crowley planted a kiss on Theo's forehead. "How have you been, kiddo?"

Theo looked up in horror and realized that Crowley was wearing a cardigan sweater and no sunglasses. He seemed to have recently gotten a haircut, too.

Crowley beamed down at him. "Why are you giving me such a funny look?" Then he glanced up and saw that he had company. "Pauline, is that you? You look beautiful, as always. And who is that--? Oh!" Crowley put down Theo, rushed over toward Lucifer, and threw his arms around the Devil in a great, big, joyful hug. "Sir, I haven't seen you in AGES! This is SUCH an unexpected honor! Would you like to come in and have a spot of tea? Or a bite to eat? I was just fixing lunch - tell me, do you like muesli?"

Pauline gave Theo a chillingly hateful glare. "No change, huh?" she hissed beneath her breath.

Theo gulped. "Um. Heh-heh. Guess I was wrong."

* * *

John couldn't even remember how they'd ever managed to get themselves into the bedroom, or onto the bed. His clothes were strewn all over the various rooms of his apartment - some articles of which were stuffed and strewn in some very, very interesting places. And now here he was, lying naked on his own sweat-soaked bed, staring up at the ceiling, utterly exhausted, sore all over, with the quite amazing Mr. Aziraphale taking a light nap beside him. As he continued staring at the ceiling, John thought, _Hmm, this is sort of weird, but... All of a sudden, I've got this insane craving to go read the Bible._

"Bill," John suddenly told the ceiling.

Aziraphale's eyes fluttered open prettily. "Hmm?" he inquired sleepily.

"I know who you should meet. You should meet Bill. You ever been filmed before?"

"Filmed?"

"Yeah. Film and photographs. Bill does very classy stuff. And he's very safe, you know, trustworthy. Totally safe, has a good reputation. And you... Wow. You're a natural. And good-looking, too. And obviously not adverse to adventure. You should try it." Then he frowned to himself and said, "I don't think there was ever an Apostle named Bill, though."

"That's all right." Aziraphale stretched luxuriously and then rolled over to snuggle against John's side. "It's just my preference, but it doesn't matter. I should Save everyone I can."

John turned his head slightly and glanced at the clock propped up on his dresser. "Oh, shit! Paul said he was just going to pick up lunch - he'll be back any minute! Actually, come to think of it... That's not right. He should have been back a while ago--"

"It's all right," Aziraphale said cheerfully. "There was a bit of divine intervention when he was on his way to pick up the food. He decided to take a detour to the nearest bookstore and buy a copy of the Bible instead. And the nearest bookstore is quite a ways away from here."

John stared at him. "How do you know that?"

"I told you. I'm an angel."

"Okay." John folded his hands across his bare stomach. "Prove it."

Without a word, Aziraphale sat up in bed, and paused briefly to pop a joint in his neck. Then there was the sound of glass breaking as he unfurled his enormous white wings, the tip of one of which crashed right through the bedroom window. Aziraphale fluttered apologetically, and only succeeded in knocking over a lamp, which crashed to the carpet. "Er, sorry about that. It is a little cramped in here, but... Is this enough proof for you?"

John was staring up at him, an expression of awe and wonderment on his face.

"Oh, my," he breathed softly. "We have got to get you on film like that."

Aziraphale blushed, obviously flattered. "You think so?"

"Oh yes. I've decided. After lunch, we're taking you straight to see Bill. Right away."

* * *

Crowley had redecorated his flat overnight.

The floor was covered in colorful throw rugs, and the walls were wallpapered with the most atrociously charming motifs of country farmhouses and hand-stitched bunnies and teddy bears sitting next to buckets full of shiny apples; the leather furniture had been replaced with second-hand upholstered sofas and chairs, far too many of which were crammed into the room. The lighting had gotten dimmer, the air had gotten mustier, and the whole place smelled of tea and freshly-baked biscuits. The impressive home entertainment system and the shelves full of CDs and DVDs seemed to have disappeared completely. Theo asked about this right away, and Crowley shrugged and said, "Oh, those things. I never needed those things to keep myself entertained, anyway. I have my knitting and my gardening to attend to. I donated all those old things to the children's hospital down the way."

Pauline was staring at him as he said this, positively aghast with horror. Lucifer, for his part, merely looked pale and ill. "I need to sit down," he said faintly, and then he did, nearly swooning back into an upholstered chair. He proceeded to bury his face in his hands and moan. "I only have one field agent left up here, and he's taken up knitting. NOW what are we going to do?"

"Chin up there, sir," Crowley said cheerfully as he puttered around the kitchen area. "Would a nice cup of chai make you feel better?"

Theo sat down on a sofa carefully and watched the demon's every move. Even his normally menacing yellow eyes somehow looked warm, friendly, and cheerful today. And his new haircut and outfit made him look like a total square.

"Crowley," said Lucifer carefully, obviously struggling to keep himself from crying again, "Could you please explain to me, right now, just exactly what you've been up to since yesterday afternoon?"

Crowley re-emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel with a pair of hens wearing checkered dresses embroidered on the bottom, and sat down on the sofa next to Theo. "Well, sir, if I must be honest with you, not very much. I was mostly just, you know, thinking. I suddenly felt like thinking, all of a sudden, and I can't for the life of me explain why. And I was thinking, sir," Crowley continued pleasantly, "that with all those nice open fires we always have burning Down There, wouldn't it be lovely if one of these days we could, you know, have a great big barbecue party? And we could barbecue some real delicious tofu and vegetables, instead of the souls of the damned like we normally do, and then, this is the best part, then we could invite all of those damned souls to a big picnic, and we could all sit together and eat and laugh and have a lovely bonding experience--"

Lucifer was weeping again. He suddenly stood up, crossed the room, threw himself down on the couch beside Crowley, and wrapped his arms around him, embracing the demon in a tight hug, running his clawed fingers gently and tenderly through Crowley's hair. "Oh, you poor, poor, poor thing! Look at what this curse has done to you!" He sniffled, and then declared with resolve, "Don't you worry, Crowley. We're going to destroy that awful miracle and find a cure for you. For you and all my demons! I won't let you suffer like this any longer!"

"But I'm not suffering," came Crowley's muffled reply from somewhere deep within the Devil's embrace.

Lucifer glanced up and around and took in the decorating in Crowley's apartment, one more time. "No," he insisted, "you must be suffering. Suffering so much that you're deep in denial. You can't like being good. I don't like being good. This is an intolerable state of affairs. And, curse it all, I keep blubbering like a baby every five minutes!"

"But I do like being good," Crowley insisted, finally managing to wriggle somewhat free of Lucifer's embrace. He favored Lucifer with the particular big, beaming, insistently happy smile that usually only showed up on the faces of lobotomy victims. "I've discovered the joys of vegan cuisine. And of helping out my fellow man. And of world peace. We should really do more work to promote world peace, sir."

"I can't take this any more!" Lucifer threw up his hands in frustration and stood up off the couch. "Pauline, don't we have ANY other field agents left on this planet?"

"Yes, I thought that Tajo was still doing work in South America," Crowley jumped in helpfully. "He's really a charming demon, when you get right down to it, but still, if you want someone evil, he might be your man."

Pauline shook her head sadly. "I checked the records sir. Most of our field agents, including the one who answers to the name Tajo, were on vacation in the upper circles last night, and were not able to escape the miracle's path. We have one agent currently unaccounted for in China; it is assumed that he has been eaten by a rogue panda."

"Panda bears are vegetarians," Theo pointed out.

"Not when it comes to demons," Pauline sighed.

Crowley nodded knowingly. "Amen to that."

"Please don't say 'amen,' " Lucifer said faintly.

"I'm sorry, sir. Really, terribly sorry. Would you like some nice tea to drink?" Crowley offered for the third time. "Some chai would get the healthy red color back in your cheeks."

"Actually," Lucifer said as he sat down heavily on his chair again, "I could use some beer."

"Er, I'm sorry sir, but... I've sworn off alcohol. There's none left in the house." He lowered his voice and whispered conspiratorially, "Liquor is the root of most of humanity's evils."

"You CAN'T be happy without alcohol!" Pauline gasped, looking positively affronted. "How can you even THINK straight without five martinis a day?! You couldn't possibly be happy, living like this!"

"But I am happy," Crowley repeated again, calmly, firmly, robotically. "I am perfectly happy living a good life like this. Peace, love, virtuousness, and righteousness are the path to true happiness."

_Lobotomized_, Theo thought again, and shuddered. Suddenly he didn't want to be sitting so close to Crowley; he tried to scoot away on the couch, as inconspicuously as possible.

Pauline wandered over to one of the wooden shelves filled with kitschy knickknacks that Crowley had lined one wall with. She picked up a glass snow globe with an apple-cheeked little tow-headed cherub strumming a harp inside it. "This, Crowley - may I take this?"

"Of course. It's charming, isn't it? But you can certainly take it if you'd like. Material possessions are meaningless to me now."

Theo shuddered again.

Pauline crossed back across the flat, her heels making muffled clicking sounds against the colorful throw-rugs, and stuffed the snow globe into the teeth-lined mouth on top of her leather briefcase, which she had left sitting on a table beside the Devil's currently occupied chair. "This will be Exhibit B in your future lawsuit, Theo," she told the boy coldly.

Theo gulped.

"Who's suing Theo?" Crowley asked conversationally.

"Hell is. Unless he can find the miracle, destroy it, and reverse all the damage that it's done within the next forty-eight hours."

"Damage? But I don't feel like I've been damaged. I feel improved."

"Well, I feel defective," the Devil grumbled darkly. "I think the only reason I have enough of my right mind left to KNOW I'm supposed to be evil is because Pauline here pulled me out of the miracle's coding matrix before it had ingested me completely. And I don't like having my demons all losing their minds on me, either."

"But I haven't lost my mind," Crowley insisted further, still smiling broadly.

And then, Theo had had enough. Seeing Crowley like this was like living out his worst nightmares; it only confirmed everything that he had refused to believe about the miracle's powers when he had been talking to Pauline and the Devil earlier that morning. And then, all of a sudden, Theo was worried about Aziraphale. And, at the same time, he realized that he knew a way to get Crowley to want to change back to the way things were. Theo reached up and tapped his shoulder. "Hey, Crowley. I have to tell you something."

"What is it?"

"If you ended up being all improved like this, then..." Theo took a deep breath. "What do you think would have happened to Aziraphale?" Theo felt a sudden sharp stab of satisfaction as he watched Crowley's smile falter. "The miracle touched him, too, you know," Theo went on further. Now Crowley's smile was definitely slipping. "It would be terrible, wouldn't it, if something bad happened to him, wouldn't it?"

"Something... bad?" Crowley asked, hesitantly. "Er... You don't know?"

"I haven't seen him for a while," Theo admitted. "And I didn't want to believe this before, but I'm thinking that, seeing what happened to you, there's a good chance that the miracle had the exact opposite effect on him."

Now Crowley really looked afraid.

"Serial killer," Pauline said solemnly.

Crowley buried his face in his hands. "Oh, no," he moaned. "If that blessed angel goes and does something really evil, he'll Fall."

"You wouldn't want that, would you?" Theo asked softly.

"No," Crowley admitted, sounding perfectly miserable. "Aziraphale doesn't deserve that. He's a good angel." Crowley dropped his hands into his lap. He turned to Theo, and the expression of helpless grief on his face almost broke Theo's heart. "What should we do?!"

"We have to find and destroy that miracle," Theo declared somberly. "And we have to change everything back to the way it was."

"But..." Crowley's voice trailed off, and he stared down at his hands, folded neatly in his lap. "But I don't want to go back to the way things were..."

"You'd do this for Aziraphale's sake, wouldn't you?"

Crowley studied his hands again. "Yes," he finally admitted with a painful, grieving sigh, "I suppose I must." He lifted his head up again and said more resolutely, "Fine, then. I'll help you destroy that miracle."

Theo turned to the other two and said smugly, "See? If he's suddenly so determined to do the right thing, one might as well take advantage of that."

"Wonderful," said Pauline with a clap of her hands. "Now we just have to start looking for it--"

"No," Crowley cut in firmly. "FIRST we have to check up on that angel. To make sure he hasn't gone out and murdered anyone yet." He stood up and walked over to the nearest telephone.

Lucifer put his feet - still clad in slush-coated black boots - up on an upholstered footrest. Then he suddenly looked embarrassed and flustered, and put them back down again. He turned to Crowley and asked, "What are you going to do if that angel's decided to go stab-happy with a butcher knife?"

"It doesn't matter whether he's good or evil anymore," Crowley said as he dialed. "We have to find him and get him to help us anyway."

"Why?"

"Because that angel," Crowley answered, "is the best sharpshooter we've got. If we have a mutant miracle to kill, there's almost no way that we can do it without him."

Pauline sat down in another chair and sighed wearily. "I find myself hoping that the angel actually has gone bad," she said as Crowley listened to the phone ringing, frowning. "It would be nice not to be the only evil one in the group anymore."

"Pauline," said the Devil helplessly, "you know I'm trying."

"I know, sir. I appreciate the effort, sir."

Crowley shook his head and hung up the phone. "I got the ansaphone. I don't think he's home." He turned to Theo. "Do you have any guesses as to where he could have gone?"

"He's probably out looking for me," Theo said, shooting a pointed glare at Pauline and Lucifer. "I WAS abducted this morning, after all."

"Then we have to find him. Right away." Crowley reached for his coat and hat.

* * *

Lunch was take-out Chinese. They ate in John's apartment. John made several frantic phone calls, and then all three of them piled into Edwards' car, and they were off.

Bill was decidedly unimpressed when he first laid eyes on Aziraphale.

"Is this really the guy?" he asked, giving John the evil eye. "He doesn't look like much to me."

"Just wait until he gets his shirt off," Edwards sighed dreamily.

"Look here, I'll show you," Aziraphale said, already taking off his clothes.

* * *

"Is this really your car?" Pauline asked. She sounded genuinely impressed.

Crowley blushed, almost bashfully. "Well, it's not much, but it--"

"Get in," Lucifer ordered curtly. "We've wasted enough time this morning as it is."

They were in the lower levels of the parking garage beneath Crowley's apartment building. It was cold and dark and damp all around, but the Bentley seemed to glow with its own infernal black light. Miracle or no miracle, it still looked - and felt - like a properly demonic car. Theo was just grateful that the car hadn't managed to transform itself into a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle, which he had almost been halfway expecting, considering what had happened to Crowley overnight.

"All right," said Crowley, suddenly all business again. He may be disgustingly good, Theo thought, but at least he still seemed to have a head on his shoulders. "I'll drive, and Theo takes shotgun. I need him up close to me, because he might be able to sense the angel's presence before any of us can see him. Would you two mind riding in back?"

"Only if I get to pick the music," Lucifer grumbled as he slid in after Pauline and her briefcase. "Hey... You wouldn't happen to have any, er, Vivaldi, would you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

* * *

"Oh, Jesus!! Oh, Jesus!!! OH, JESUS!!!! OH, JESUS!!!!!" cried out nice Mr. Brown who liked to wear the policeman's cap. Aziraphale thought that was a charming little quirk of his, but a bit eccentric, in his personal opinion. Aziraphale had recently come to the understanding that Mr. Brown seemed to operate in these circumstances while assuming the nickname "Big Ben," and Aziraphale was just as puzzled and quaintly amused by this charming little quirk of his as he was by the cap.

"Oh, I love you, Jesus," Mr. Brown sobbed with joy as he clutched at a bedpost, trembling with exhaustion. Aziraphale finished with his end of it, and gave Mr. Brown a last kiss on the back of his neck. Then, smiling broadly, wings fluttering lightly, he turned toward the blinking red light on top of the video camera and asked innocently, "Was that good?" The feathery tips of his enormous wings brushed against the walls on either side of the otherwise very large set.

Bill was staring at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Then he seemed to recover himself, shook his head lightly as if to clear his thoughts, and finally answered, "Yeah, uh, that was... That was... That was beautiful. Really. Where are you hiding the wires on those things?"

"Wires?" Aziraphale stretched out his wings luxuriously - or at least, as far as the confines of the walls around him would allow. "I told you, these are real."

"All right. Okay. Sure." Bill shrugged. "Whatever you say. Hey, Marcus - can you do a scene with him for me?"

Marcus stepped forward, pulling off his shirt. "What did you have in mind?"

"Excuse me," Aziraphale cut in politely, "But I'm afraid that I can't do this with him. You see, Mr. Marcus is such a good man, that he's already set to be going up to Heaven."

Marcus and Bill exchanged glances with each other. "Do as he says," Bill mouthed silently, and Marcus nodded, stepping back, pulling back on his shirt with an expression of embarrassed chagrin on his face.

"Who do you want to do next, then?" Bill asked the angel, gesturing behind him and toward the sitting room around the corner, where several men were lounging.

"Let's see..." Aziraphale tapped his lower lip thoughtfully. "Hmm. I'm not sure. Who do you know that needs to be Saved?"

Bill sighed. "Would you do a pair of twins for me?"

Aziraphale seemed to brighten up at the idea. "Both at once?"

"Yes, that's the idea."

"Of course. That sounds absolutely delightful."

* * *

They drove through the streets of London, the soothing strains of Vivaldi washing out from the Bentley's speakers. Crowley was obeying the speed limit. Crowley was even stopping for red lights - and for pedestrians. Crowley was driving slowly and cautiously enough to begin to drive even Theo mad with impatience.

They would have made it to the bookshop a lot sooner if Crowley hadn't insisted on stopping so that a flock of ducks could take their time waddling across the road. Theo was amazed. He hadn't even known that there _were_ ducks this far north in the middle of winter.

* * *

Halfway through it, one of the twins started babbling in tongues.

"Uh, Jim?" the other one asked, actually trying to wriggle away from Aziraphale for a moment. "Jim, are you all right?"

"He's better than all right," Aziraphale gasped between his delicious little moans of pleasure. "He's got the Holy Spirit."

By that time, Big Ben Brown had been carried off to a corner of the adjacent sitting room, where he sat on the floor with his knees hugged to his chest, rocking back and forth and sobbing about how much he loved Jesus.

* * *

"This is it," Crowley said, pulling the Bentley up to the curb in front of Aziraphale's bookshop. "Oh, wait a minute. Yellow lines mean I can't park here--"

Pauline snapped her fingers, and the yellow lines vanished. "Really, Crowley," she muttered.

The four of them piled out of the car, but Theo knew that it was too late already. The angel wasn't there. He could fee it - a pervasive sense of emptiness, and a strange heavy darkness about the place, as if the source of bright light that usually illuminated the dim little bookshop had vanished.

Crowley tried the door, and found it locked. The 'Closed' sign was hung in the front window; he ignored it, knocking loudly. "Aziraphale! Aziraphale, are you there?"

From somewhere within the bookshop, Margie barked out his cheerful greeting. The door, however, remained closed, and no angel's voice answered from within.

* * *

When he was finished with the twins, Aziraphale sat up patiently on the bed and asked eagerly, "Who next? Who shall I Save next?"

"Are you sure that you're feeling up to more? You aren't getting tired at all, are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine, really. Perfectly fine. I'd very much love to do this some more, if you please. So who shall it be next?"

"Listen, uh..." Bill paused, unsure of what to say next. The twins had been led off to the sitting room, Jim still babbling nonsensically in some long-dead language, and Bill could hear Big Ben still sobbing away in the room next door. Bill could sense that something was deeply wrong, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what. Part of him was growing afraid of the beautiful, eager, kind-looking winged man sitting on the bed in front of him. And part of him was thinking, _Goddamn, these are some of the best images I ever have and ever will film in my entire life._

Well, if you had a beautiful man with wings fucking right in front of you, you might as well make the most of it.

With the mental equivalent of a shrug, Bill turned off the video camera. "I'd like to take some photographs of you," he said.

"Pictures? As in, with a camera? Of me?"

"Exactly."

Aziraphale's face fell. "But that's not going to help me Save any more souls..."

"These aren't going to be solo pictures. We can do that later, but right now, if you're still feeling up to it, I'd like to shoot a series of action shots. Get my drift?"

"Oh, all right. I see. Very well, then."

Bill called out to the sitting room, "I want McPherson, Padwittle, and Drollings in here!" He turned back to Aziraphale and asked casually, "So... Ever been tied up before?"

Aziraphale laughed, delighted. "No, not that way!"

"Ever tied anyone else up before?"

"That sounds like fun!"

"Fun indeed," Bill agreed, as he began to assemble his camera equipment. _We have to tire him out,_ he was already plotting inside his head. _We have to tire him out soon, so that he'll agree to pose for some solo shots. And what's with this 'saving souls' business?_

"Hey!" said Padwittle, sauntering into the room and giving a friendly wave to Aziraphale. "So you're the new guy, huh? Well, I'm Matthew, and this is Mark McPherson, and Luke Drollings."

Aziraphale threw back his head and moaned with ecstasy. He hadn't even been touched yet.

* * *

Crowley paused in front of the locked door, a bewildered expression on his face. "Now what?" he asked nobody in particular.

"We go in," Pauline answered curtly.

Crowley looked horrified. "But we can't break into his home--!"

Lucifer snapped his fingers, and then there was no door anymore. "See that? Problem solved."

"Sir," Crowley protested angrily, "I don't see how that's any better than--" He cut himself off as one hundred and fifty pound of drooling fur and blubber jumped up and placed his filthy front paws up on Crowley's cardigan. "Oh, hello Margie."

"Look at that!" Theo cried out, pushing past Crowley and the dog and rushing into the bookshop. He held out an empty dog food dish to the crowd gathered in the doorway. "Wherever he went, he didn't even bother to feed Margie before he left. That's not like him. Something's wrong."

* * *

"HALLELUJAH!!!!" Padwittle screamed as his muscles twisted in a rictus of ecstasy. "PRAISE JESUS!!! I FE-E-E-EL THE HOLY SPIRIT!!!"

"Um," said Drollings nervously, "Um, I'm not so sure I want to do this anymore--"

"You're next," growled Aziraphale, low in his throat, as he practically threw Padwittle aside and grabbed Drollings, wrapping his arms around him.

"Look, see," Drollings tried to explain frantically, "the point of us tying you up is that you're supposed to stay tied up--"

"You were going too slow," Aziraphale sighed. "All of that teasing and taunting, but nothing nice like

kissing or touching at all--"

"Lead-up, man, it's all about lead-up! And that-- oh --- oh, God --- oh, that, oh, hmm, yes, that's very nice, you doing that right there--"

"Ow," said Mr. McPherson suddenly. He'd gotten a feather in his eye.

Bill snapped away furiously with his camera. Granted, Aziraphale's behavior was certainly somewhat unprofessional at the moment, but, hey, he was an amateur. And you just couldn't get images like those majestic white wings snapping free of their bindings, outside of lunatic dreams and extremely creative computer-simulation porn games... And yet, here Bill was, snapping pictures of it happening in real life.

"Beautiful," he breathed as he zoomed in close with the camera. "Just beautiful."

* * *

"Hello, what's this?"

All four of them turned around slowly. Margie jumped down off Crowley and barked, eagerly wagging his tail back and forth.

Paul Edwards was standing in the doorway. "I say," he exclaimed, "There's no more door here! Are you chaps breaking in?"

Crowley suddenly pointed at him. "Hey, I know you! You're that neighbor who dumped his cat off here!"

Edwards suddenly looked extremely befuddled. "Cat...? Do I have a cat now?"

"That's your cat," Theo said, pointing at the dog.

Margie barked, as if in affirmation.

Edwards shook his head. "You're all a bunch of loonies, that's what you are. I'd suggest that you leave the premises right now, or I shall have to call the police, on Mr. Phale's behalf."

"Hold on a second," said Crowley suddenly. He stepped over and stood right in front of Edwards, and flicked his tongue out once, very quickly. "You smell like cinnamon toast and tea. That's angel-scent. And it's all over you. Did you see him today?"

"Who, Mr. Phale? I saw him this morning."

"You DID?!" Theo squeaked. "Do you know where he went?!"

"Well, he went out with me and John, that's where he went."

"Out?" asked Crowley, incredulously. "With you and who now?"

"Me and my friend John. We dropped him off at Bill's place not too long ago; John said he'd swing by and pick him up this afternoon."

"Who is Bill?" asked Crowley, as politely as he possibly could.

"A friend," Edwards answered, though slightly guarded now. "What business is it of yours anyway?" Then he blinked and added, "Say, haven't I seen you around here before?" He squinted suspiciously at Crowley. "I usually don't forget a face, but you seem somehow different today--"

"We're not getting anywhere as long as you keep being polite with him," Lucifer suddenly berated Crowley. He stepped toward Edwards, momentarily managing to look menacing. "Why don't you tell us, you idiot man, just exactly where this 'Bill' is and how we can get to him and the idiot angel?"

Edwards stepped back, his eyes widening. Then he took a deep breath, gathered up his courage, and answered quite calmly, "No. I sense that you have ill intentions about you, sir, and I feel no particular reason to inform you of Mr. Phale's whereabouts. That's his private business."

"No particular reason, huh? Well, then, I'll give you a particular reason..." But then, the Devil seemed to suddenly deflate, going in one instant from threatening and dangerous to chagrined and fretful. "Oh, I can't. He just looks so cute and sweet and innocent... Pauline, be a dear and do something nasty to this man, would you?"

Pauline cracked her knuckles. "My pleasure, sir."

* * *

"Oh my," Aziraphale sighed contentedly, lounging back on the bed, the bases of his wings crushed beneath him. "This is exhausting work. I could use a quick breather, if you don't mind."

McPherson fumbled with his clothes, struggling to dress himself again. He felt all funny in his head, like his fingers were suddenly too big for his hands, which meant that he was having a great deal of difficulty with his belt. He also seemed to be thinking in Hebrew, too, which was slightly disconcerting. He had been the last one that the angel had taken; the other two had run off to go buy Bibles before the scene was even finished.

"That's fine, just fine," Bill said, grinning a greedy, maniacal grin. "You just lay back like that, Mr. Phale. Would you mind stretching your arm over your head? Like this? Just like that. Try to look relaxed and sated. Not that you need to be acting for that part. Would you mind me taking just a few more photos? You don't have to do anything, just rest. Mark, where are you going?"

"Kneisiya," Mark said, as he finished buckling his belt and stumbled out the room.

"Hmmm." Aziraphale placed one exquisitely manicured hand on his stomach and adopted the most effortlessly sexy, dreamy, gazing expression on his face. He was humming quietly to himself - Bill was surprised when he realized that the tune was Amazing Grace.

Still, Bill snapped more photographs.

Aziraphale turned his head and stretched his arms lazily up towards the ceiling. "William, is it?" he asked, his voice low and breathy.

"Just call me Bill."

"Bill, it's just you and me now. We're all alone."

"Excuse me?" But then Bill paused and looked around. They really were alone. The bedroom was empty, and a quick poke of his head into the adjacent sitting room confirmed for Bill that none of his men were left in there, either.

Bill froze, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling.

"Where did everybody go?" he asked in a very, very small voice.

"I sent them a-wa-ay," Aziraphale answered in a sing-song voice. "They went somewhere nice. They'll be back when I bring them back."

Bill gulped. "Why'd you do that?"

"Because I sensed that you are impeded by a strong personal inhibition, that you vowed never to engage in this activity with one of your 'actors' you used in a film, and especially not when there was a whole cast and crew present." The angel sighed. "But unfortunately, I'm here now and so are you; and all I needed to do was get rid of your crew."

Bill's hands trembled as he clutched tightly at his camera. "W-W-Who are you?!"

"Bill..." Aziraphale gazed at him with his unspeakably beautiful, clear blue eyes - eyes so lovely and entrancing that a person could just drown in them. "I love you, Bill. Come here, let me share that love with you."

"Um... I'm not quite sure if I should, er... "

"Bill, has anybody ever told you that your hair is the color of the flaky crust in the custard pies they make at Patisserie Valerie?"

"Er, no. I've never heard that one before."

* * *

"You didn't have to make him scream, did you?" Crowley grumbled petulantly as the Bentley roared through the streets again. He was driving fast, this time - a visible testament to how worried he had suddenly become, given the very, very interesting information about Bill that Pauline had extracted from Paul Edwards.

Theo rocked back and forth in the shotgun seat, hands clasped between his legs, worrying. In fact, he was practically dithering - doing a near perfect imitation of some of Aziraphale's better dithers over the years, although he was completely unaware of it. He did feel badly about the way that Edwards had screamed. Fortunately, before they had left, Crowley had snapped his fingers and returned Edwards back to perfect health, and had also convinced the man that he had a pet male St. Bernard named Margie that he needed to be taking back from Aziraphale's bookshop. Edwards had wanted to know why he had named his male dog Margie and also why the dog was handed back to him along with a used litter box. Crowley hadn't bothered to answer those questions; he'd just restored the door to the bookshop and left.

It was all very bad, really. Messing with Edwards' mind was a very, very bad thing to be doing. And even Crowley had been doing it, and he was supposed to be good now. But still, at the same time, Theo was profoundly glad that they had done it. He needed to find that angel right away. If something awful happened to him, it would be all Theo's fault...

"He didn't scream all that much," Pauline was insisting from somewhere behind Theo, in the back seat. "And I cleaned up all the blood. You know I hate messes. And he's fine, now. I think."

Even Lucifer shuddered and tried to discretely scoot himself further away from Pauline.

* * *

When Aziraphale was quite finished Saving Bill, he simply slid off the bed and started gathering up his clothes again.

Bill moaned and rolled over on the bed, watching the angel as his wings disappeared into his back and he slipped back on his shirt, fumbling for a moment with the buttons. "Wait," Bill said thickly, "Wait. Whuh are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, William," Aziraphale said, only sounding halfway sincere in his apology, "But I've Saved all the souls that can be Saved in this basement of yours. When John comes by, tell him that I thank him cordially for showing me such a lovely time. But now I know that I must strike out on my own, if I expect to Save any more souls today."

"Whuh do you mean, 'on your own'?"

"I'm going back to Soho, William, and I know where all the right bars and clubs are. I'm not a fool. And I'm going to go do some more good deeds with such fine, lovely gentlemen as yourself."

"But my crew--"

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and, like magic, there were people in the room again. "Hello everyone," he said cheerfully, as he finished dressing himself by putting on his coat and cap. "And thank you for the lovely afternoon. Cheerio!"

He left. Nobody even tried to stop him.

Bill lay naked on the bed, and felt his camera crew staring at him.

"Yes," he finally said, "I found Jesus. Now let's clean up, get this film developed, and we shall never speak of that man again."

* * *

Continued. 


	12. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended upsomehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!

* * *

Ordinary Miracles

by Nenena

* * *

Chapter 11

Somtow, S.P. 1992. Armorica. White Wolf Publishing, Clarkson, Georgia. LCCN N/A.

* * *

"This is a nice neighborhood," Crowley commented as he very, very slowly and very, very carefully steered the Bentley into an utterly illegal parking spot. "A really nice neighborhood. It doesn't look seedy at all. Are you sure this is the right place?"

"This is the address that the Edwards human said," Pauline repeated, although she sounded doubtful herself. They were currently parking on a residential block lined with neat little cottages, colorfully painted, each respectfully set back from the street and most fronted by good-sized yards, probably full of blooming gardens in the spring and summer. Many of the houses even had fences. Theo was amazed that houses so small and so close together would want to further clutter up their properties with fences.

The four of them left the car and cautiously approached a bright, blue, cheerful cottage on the corner. It looked rather Victorian, and most of the doors and windows were lined with colorful bricbrac and other assorted useless decorations. The perfect layers of white snow on the roof, on the eaves, and in the yard of the home, combined to create the likeness of frosting on a gingerbread house.

"I can't go in there," the Devil suddenly said. "I'm afraid I'll take up knitting. Don't places like that have germs?! I'll end up as mad as Crowley here."

"It'll be all right," Pauline soothed him. "Just try to think nasty thoughts."

They passed through the white picket gate in front of the yard, crossed the snowy front yard in three steps (four for Theo), and gathered in front of the door.

"Let me talk," Crowley said as he rang the doorbell. "You can step in and torture him only after he refuses to cooperate nicely. Agreed?"

Pauline made a disapproving "tsk" sound with her tongue, but she nodded anyway.

The door opened, and a tall man in a plaid shirt and jeans was standing there with a mug of coffee in one hand. He looked as though he had just been interrupted doing something important, and resented the intrusion. "Can I help you?" he asked the crowd in front of his door.

"We're looking for a Mr. Phale--"

"I don't know any Phales."

"Did he give you the name Aziraphale?"

"No. Never heard of. And I think I'd remember a weird name like that." He made as if to close the door--

Crowley shot out one hand and held the door open. "I can tell that you're lying," he said, very politely, "And I don't appreciate being lied to."

"Fine. All right. There was a guy with that name here. And he came here under his own volition and everything that he did on these premises is fully legal and I have his signed consent form to prove it. Now, unless you're a cop with a search warrant, nothing else that went on in this house, and nothing else that I know, is any of your business."

Crowley flicked out his tongue once, quickly. "You may have just taken a shower, sir, but I can still smell it all over you - cinnamon toast and tea. Shampoo and soap may mask it for a while, but humans can't get rid of leftover angel aura so easily. I think we need to come in."

"You can't come in here!" The man's face darkened, and he stood his ground. "For crying out loud, you've got a KID with you! What the hell are you trying to do, breaking into my house like this?!"

"Is he still here?" Theo suddenly blurted out. When everyone turned to look at him, he flushed, embarrassed, but continued anyway. "That's all we need to know, sir. Is Mr. Phale still here?"

"No. He left a while ago."

"Where did he go?"

"Soho. I think he just went home."

Crowley glared at the man, not fooled by the lie, so Bill gulped and continued, somewhat uneasily, "I mean, er, he actually said he was going to the bars. I figured he wouldn't get much action before the sun went down, but he seemed to think otherwise. And the funny thing is, with that guy, I somehow believe he's right."

Crowley sighed. "He didn't tell you anything more specific than that?"

"No." The man shook his head. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe that our business together is finished." He slammed the door shut on them.

"His name was William Holdings," Pauline said, crossing her arms across her chest. "He was drinking coffee and reading the Bible just before he answered the door. Really. I don't see what's so important about _that_ that he would be all huffy about having to talk to us for less than a minute."

"Pauline," Crowley hissed, "You shouldn't go around poking into people's heads like that!"

"Oh, shouldn't I?" She smiled at him, baring her fangs. "You wouldn't believe the mental images that flashed across his brain the moment that you said that angel's name."

"Don't tell me," Crowley groaned. "Especially not in front of the little boy."

"Crowley, he was doing it with his wings out. And he was singing Amazing Grace."

Crowley clasped his hands over his ears. "I'm not he-earing this," he said in a sing-song voice.

"We have to GO!" Theo grabbed at Crowley's elbow. "We have to keep looking for him, and we have to STOP him before this goes any further!"

"I'll say," Lucifer agreed. " 'Snot fair, if that idiot angel gets to get away with Saving souls by doing THIS thing. That's practically cheating. It's way too easy to..." Then his voice slowly trailing off into nothing. He seemed to ponder something for a moment, then asked, "Say, has anybody from our side ever tried to--?"

"Yes," Pauline and Crowley answered in unison.

"Did it work?"

"No," they answered again.

"Then that's definitely not fair. Completely not fair, angels having an advantage like that," he grumped.

* * *

They drove back to Soho, following along Compton Street. The sun was setting, the wind was growing chill, and Crowley's car was starting to attract a lot of attention. He had to arrange matters so that nobody would notice it as it barreled down the street - which was difficult, as it turned out, because when he did so, then people started thinking that they didn't have to get out of its way. Which slowed the car down even more.

"How do we find one angel out of all these people?" Theo asked as the crowd around them began to thicken, as the night grew darker.

"That's easy," Crowley answered. "Just looked for the Saved people."

And occasionally, they'd see them - particularly satisfied, sated customers on their way out of choice establishments, many of them lightly scented with cinnamon and tea, and most of them thinking that they really ought to go back home and read (or buy) their copy of the Bible. They walked down the street with pleasantly dreamy expressions on their faces, they smiled broadly, and some of them had tears of joy in their eyes. Once they saw a whole group of them walking together. And once, there was a man hugging a street lamp on one corner and speaking in tongues.

So the three demons and the boy drove on, backtracked, ran in and out of whatever buildings they saw the Saved men coming from, but it was always no good. The angel was always gone before they got there.

"He's moving fast," Crowley observed as they left another hotel, empty-handed. "He's not even sticking in one place for more than a few minutes at a time. And I can't figure out how he's getting himself around, either. If he were flying, we'd be able to see him."

Every time they were back in the car, Theo would sit in the shotgun seat and dither.

Finally, in the wee hours just past midnight, as they passed by one last, low, old building, Theo suddenly sat straight up in his seat and gasped. "I think he's--!"

Theo never got to finish that sentence, because suddenly everyone in the car, everyone up and down the street, and pretty much everyone within a two-block radius heard the clear, distinct cries of a man screaming at the top of his lungs. "OH YES!! OH JESUS!! OH JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY!! OH GOD!!! OOOOOH GOOOOOOOD---!!!!"

Somebody had just made the mistake of screwing an angel in a room

with an open window. Which was really an extraordinary mistake to make, considering that it was in the middle of winter. It must have just been getting very hot in the room, we'll have to suppose.

Crowley slammed on the Bentley's brakes and wrenched the steering wheel into a nearby convenient parking spot that Theo was absolutely certain had not been there a moment before.

* * *

The door to the party suite would have been locked for anybody else on Earth, but not for Crowley. When he wanted a door to not be locked, it was simply just not locked anymore. Simple as that. Crowley threw open the door and burst into the room.

What he saw would have stopped his heart, had he been bothering to let it beat in the first place. "Angel, what are you DOING?!"

"Oh, hello, Crowley," the angel said, momentarily raising his head from where it had been otherwise occupied on the body of a beefy naked male wearing a sailor cap. He was one of at least half a dozen beefy naked males wearing identical sailor caps who were currently sharing the bed with Aziraphale. "I'm filling these nice young men with the Holy Spirit."

"Hey, who is this clown?" one of the sailors asked. The bodies of the sailors writhed and wriggled around each other as all of them turned to get a good look at the intruder. "Mr. Phale, do you know this guy? Did he come to make trouble?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "The very purpose of Crowley's existence is to make trouble. Really now, Crowley, is it too much for a fellow to ask for a bit of privacy?"

"Are you MAD?!" Crowley gasped. "Theo's miracle is still on the loose, all of Hell has been destroyed, your APPRENTICE has been kidnapped by the Devil himself and he's been waiting for your help all day, WE'VE been running around like mad trying to find you, and all YOU seem to be able to think about is your di--"

"This guy's nuts," one of the sailors growled. "Hey, cardigan!" he addressed the demon. "Either shut up and join in, or shut up and leave, and close the damn door behind you!"

"Oh, I'm leaving all right - and you're coming with me, angel."

"Oh, dear. I suppose you have a point." Aziraphale struggled to extract himself from the bodies of the others. "I'm terribly sorry, gentlemen, but it seems that there's a spot of trouble I have to attend to. So sorry to disappoint." His erection dissolved itself as quickly and as effortlessly as if he were willing it to do so without a second thought. Which he was.

"Wait!" One of them grabbed at Aziraphale's wrist. "Uh, can I call you sometime?"

"Just pray." Aziraphale blew him a small, lovely kiss. "Cheerio!"

There was a collective "aaaaaw" of protest from the bed, but nobody seriously tried to stop Aziraphale. He slipped back into his trousers and shirt, gathered up his coat and cap, and beamed happily at Crowley as they left the room. "My goodness, Crowley, you're looking sharp today! Did you cut your hair? It looks very nice, and I must say, it's about time, anyway. Wherever did your shades go?"

Crowley just shook his head in disbelief. "I knew it. You're gay."

"I am not gay."

"That what was THAT?"

"A very pleasurable group experience."

"They were all men!"

"Merely a coincidence."

"Would you Save a woman's soul that way?"

Aziraphale frowned for a moment, contemplating the question. "Oh, Crowley," he finally said. "That doesn't prove anything at all."

"And just what kind of tricks were you pulling in there, anyway?!"

"Dear boy, whatever do you mean?"

"I just saw you in there with your shirt off, and I know for a fact, mister, that your chest and stomach haven't looked like that since the invention of cheesecake." Crowley reached over and poked one accusatory finger into Aziraphale's soft gut. "Vanity, vanity, vanity. You were sinning up, down, across, and all over that bed!"

"Inside every fat person is a thin person just waiting to be set free," Aziraphale answered calmly. "And I was not, by any means, engaging in any practice as low as casting glamours. What you saw was my real body. Even if, er, only real in a temporary sense."

"I thought that miracles were strictly not for personal use. At least, that's the lecture that you used to always give to me."

"Oh, Crowley, I wasn't doing this for me. I was doing it for them. You know as well as I do that those humans enjoy it more with--"

"You unbelievable IDIOT!" Crowley wanted to pull his hair out with frustration. "You lousy, selfish, vain, incorrigible angel! While you were out indulging yourself all day, did you completely forget all about your--?"

"Oh, no." Aziraphale froze, his eyes widening with horror. His face slowly melted into the expression of someone waking from a pleasant dream and suddenly finding himself standing in the middle of a nightmare. "Oh, NO." Without warning, he reached out and clutched at Crowley's shoulder. "THEO!! I forgot all about Theo!! Crowley, what happened to him?!"

"I already told you! The boss took him--"

"WHAT?!"

"It's okay, it's okay! He's with us now. And he's safe, at least as long as that miracle's still on the loose, paradoxically enough. The boss is all good now, and he won't hurt Theo, but I do still worry about Pauline, and Theo seems to be in a bad mood about all of this--"

"Oh, no," Aziraphale moaned again. He let go of Crowley and seemed to almost swoon for a moment, then he steadied himself on his feet. "I can't believe it. I did it again. I failed that poor boy, this time again."

* * *

The Devil, Pauline, and Theo were waiting for them outside. Lucifer was lounging with his back against one wall of the building, holding Theo in front of him, gently but firmly resting one hand on Theo's shoulder, digging the tips of his fingers into Theo's soft flesh. Pauline leaned casually beside them, occasionally glancing around with disdain at the overly made-up and scantily-costumed humans that paraded in and out of the establishment.

Theo gulped. He was scared, really scared, although trying hard not to show it. Crowley had gone inside and left him alone, and Crowley was the only reliably "good" one in the Bentley's posse that Theo felt he could trust anymore. Sure, Lucifer seemed to have gone good and all, but he was fighting it - and he was trying very, very hard to fight it. Theo kept remembering the red glow of his eyes, and the fiery smoldering heat that had roared out of his mouth, when he had first spoken to him. And Pauline... Theo shivered. She was the most evil thing that Hell had left, and remembering what he had seen her do to poor Mr. Edwards (before Crowley had covered his eyes), Theo shivered again. He knew that he was still the hostage of these two lunatics, and he knew that he was, Crowley or no Crowley, still in a great deal of danger.

People passed them by without so much as a second glance at Theo, and Theo knew that a boy his age would normally have been an extraordinarily unusual sight, waiting outside a place like this, even in the company of adults. They were doing it again, Theo realized - those demons. Fixing things so that nobody thought to look at them or listen to them, or if they did, they forgot what they'd seen or heard a moment later.

Theo suddenly saw Pauline tense. "Angel," she hissed through clenched teeth.

Crowley was leading Aziraphale out toward them, Aziraphale dithering worriedly behind him. Theo's first impression was that Aziraphale looked just as Aziraphale-like as ever, completely without any sort of homicidal gleam in his eye, and he didn't seem to be carrying any knives or guns or rusty old cutting shears, and his clothes were free of bloodstains. Which were all good signs, so far.

The angel's eyes finally fell upon Theo, and they both lit up with immediate recognition - and worry, and fear. "Theo!" he cried out, rushing forward, pushing Crowley aside.

"I don't think so," Lucifer said coldly, suddenly digging his fingers painfully into Theo's shoulder and pulling the boy closer to him. Aziraphale halted, a few feet away from them, fear and confusion evident all over his open, angelic face. "Well, this is somewhat awkward," Lucifer continued, sounding honestly chagrined, as if he were embarrassed to be forced into playing the role of the villain, "but I'm afraid that I've taken your apprentice here as my hostage. By the way, nice shirt, and you can call me Lucifer. But let's be honest here, shall we? You're an angel, and I'm not supposed to normally be this nice to you, although at the moment, I am currently unable to stop myself. Anyway, I'm not so very nice that I've gone stupid, and I can assure you, I am still willing to do what needs to be done in order to bring as swift as possible an end to this current crisis. Which means that, in short, I can guarantee that your apprentice will come to substantial harm, should you not agree to cooperate with Pauline and I in the demands that we make of you. We can count on your cooperation, can't we, Mr. Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale actually took a frightened step backward. "I can't work for you. It's against the rules. I'd Fall for sure if I ever agreed to work for you."

"Don't think of it as working for me. Think of it as working with me." Lucifer smiled, showing his sharp teeth. "I've recently come to understand that you do so all the time with Crowley. This will be no different."

Fear and uncertainty still shone in Aziraphale's eyes, but he stood his ground firmly, and managed to ask quite calmly, "What sort of things do you want me to do?"

"Kill the miracle," Pauline answered. "Crowley tells us that you're good with human firearms. So you'll come with us to find the miracle, and then you'll shoot it. That's all we ask."

"And then you'll let Theo go?"

"Absolutely."

"Without any last-minute retaliations or changes of heart or any of that other devilish business? Pun intended."

"We've already lost a whole day searching for you," Lucifer growled, digging his fingers painfully into Theo's shoulder. Theo wiggled against his grip, but would not cry out. He could not cry out, for Aziraphale's sake. The idiot angel might agree to anything if he thought that Theo was in pain. At that moment, Theo both loved and hated his idiot angel, wanted to scream at him and cry out to him at the same time. Lucifer continued, "We have less than thirty-six hours to find the miracle and destroy it, before any changes that it has effected become permanent."

"All right," Aziraphale said, "All right. I'll help you." He turned to Crowley. "Now, do you know where to start looking for this miracle again?"

Crowley shrugged. "Dunno. We spent this whole blessed day concentrating on finding you."

"Er, sorry about that." Aziraphale scratched his head in consternation. "The thing is, though, I'd love to be able to help, but I don't have a gun anymore. It ate mine already, remember?"

"That's not a problem." Lucifer yanked Theo away from the wall and began steering him back toward the Bentley, parked a block away. "Come on, let's get moving again. Thirty-six hours and counting, that's all we have. And first, we need to get something large and preferably automated into that angel's hands."

* * *

Theo had feared that the miracle would have done the same thing to Aziraphale that it had done to the demons - that is, it would have turned a usually pretty good angel into an always perfectly evil angel. But, fortunately or unfortunately, the miracle seemed to have created a more unpredictable effect. Aziraphale was no more good or evil than he usually was - which is to say, he still seemed to be erring mostly on the side of good. What was different, however, was that all of his normal angelic inhibitions were gone.

When they were back in the car - Crowley at the wheel, Aziraphale in shotgun, and Theo squished behind the Father of Lies and his lawyer in the back - Theo made the mistake of asking Aziraphale just what he had been up to all day. Because Theo was still worried, and he wanted to know.

Aziraphale's eyes immediately lit up as he twisted around in his seat to answer Theo. "Oh, Theo, you would be so proud of me! I know how you're always saying that we ought to do more to have a direct effect upon human souls. Well, today, what between the orgies and all, I must have directly Saved just short of a hundred or so souls."

The Bentley roared through the streets, and Theo could see that Crowley was making every effort to concentrate his attention on the road. But the angel's words were hard to ignore, and Theo paled. "Uh-huh. That's, um, nice. Good. Good for you."

But Aziraphale kept going, his face lit up with excitement as he spoke. "I started with Paul and John, of course, but John was so very nice and splendid about the whole thing, and he introduced me to his friend William, who's a professional photographer and film director, you

understand, and he had a studio in his basement. We did some filming, which was really just so lovely, and he took some lovely pictures of me Saving some lovely men dressed in leather, and then I went downtown, and... oh, the whole day has just been so... so... lovely! Yes, that's the word for it. Lovely. And I've made so many new friends today. There's Mr. Brown who liked to wear the policeman's cap, and Mr. McPherson who just does some amazingly skillful things with his tongue - you should really meet with him sometime, Crowley, I'm sure even you'd be impressed - and the twins, Jim and John, who are really stunningly identical, nobody could ever tell them apart, but that didn't really matter to me, I Saved them both at one time. Mr. Holdings - oh, I mean, William, he's the charming young director I met, the friend with the video camera that I mentioned - said that I have a splendid future in this business. So what do you think, then? Personally, I think it's about time I found an honest way to make ends meet, what with the book store always in the red ink and all."

They drove on as the winter night deepened around them. Aziraphale continued to babble, and it seemed to Theo that practically every other word he said was either "charming" or "lovely" or "fellatio".

The lights of the city faded behind them.

"Where are we going?" Pauline finally asked.

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley and mouthed a name. Crowley nodded, although he looked embarrassed about it. "Oh, really?" the angel asked to confirm. Then he said, "It looks like we're going to pay Mr. Jefferson a visit. That's lovely, really. It's been so long since I've seen him."

"Who's Jefferson?"

"A mutual acquaintance," Crowley said dryly.

"He's a very devout believer," Aziraphale said admiringly.

"He's also a crazy old coot who lives out in the middle of nowhere and--"

"Oh, Crowley, I just realized. Do you think he'll be very upset that Armageddon was canceled? I mean, he did spend so much time and effort preparing for it, what with the fallout shelter, and all the stores of canned food, and such."

"I don't know. I don't particularly care for his type, but... He does have an awful lot of guns."

"Oh, yes." Aziraphale nodded. "Even I sometimes learn something new from this gentleman. He's quite the expert. And quite the collector, too."

"And he's the only crazy old coot around here that I know, who'll actually give up one of his babies if an angel in shining white robes appears before him and asks him for one."

"If the angel asks politely," Aziraphale clarified. "He's shot at me once before, because he thought I was the Devil in disguise. I think it had something to do with a comment I made about his state of personal hygiene. Or lack thereof."

* * *

The drive out to wherever Jefferson called home felt as if it were taking forever, at least in Theo's mind. _This is taking too long,_ he thought grumpily, _we should be concentrating every second that we have on finding the miracle right away!_

Theo wasn't the only one growing antsy. He was sandwiched in the back seat of the Bentley between Pauline and Lucifer, and both of them seemed to be growing increasingly impatient as well. Pauline kept crossing and uncrossing her legs, and occasionally stabbing into Theo's calves with her pointed heels; Lucifer shifted back and forth in his seat, twiddling his thumbs. Crowley was concentrating on driving, and Aziraphale had long ago fallen silent and begun staring out at the black, night-darkened countryside as it screamed past them.

Theo could feel the tension building up between them. The others could feel it, too. Finally, Lucifer leaned over close to Theo and whispered, "Are we there yet?"

Theo shook his head. "Aren't you supposed to have, you know, patience, or something? I thought that being an evil overlord required patience."

Their conversation was getting loud enough to be heard by everyone in the car. Pauline glared at Theo and said, "We have patience. We're just not used to wasting our patience on frivolous, time-sucking pursuits when there's more important business to be attending to."

"We're not going to face any mutant miracles without getting armed first," Crowley said, rather loudly, from the front seat.

_Great_, Theo thought sullenly_. It begins. Now's the part where we all start snapping at each other._

"Now, now," Lucifer said, nervously, "Let's not all start snapping at each other." He was, apparently, feeling hopelessly good again. "Isn't there something that we can do to cheer ourselves up now, some way that we can pass the time, and still have some fun? I know! Let's play a car game."

"This is not a time for games!" Crowley sounded aghast. "This is serious!"

"Crowley, there's never any time that isn't a good time for fun and games."

"You mean," Crowley snapped peevishly, "There's never any time for you that isn't a good time for fun and games. YOUR job is easy, your job has always been easy, all you have to do is sit around Down There and order other demons to do your work for you while you idle away the time playing fun and games with the souls of the damned--"

"Aha," said Pauline, "It appears that, under stress, these repressed feelings of yours are finally starting to leak out."

Crowley grumbled something not-quite-obscene under his breath. Theo could see Aziraphale staring at him curiously, yet still saying nothing. Theo was bewildered too, for a moment, before it began to dawn on him what was going on. Something about being back behind the wheel of his beloved car for an extended period of time was having some sort of miracle-reversing effect on Crowley. The longer and farther he drove, the more and more easily he seemed to be lapsing back into at least a pale, watered-down version of his former self.

Theo pondered this strange phenomenon for a moment, wondering if he should consider it a good thing, or a bad thing.

Lucifer, for his part, seemed to pause, and then began rummaging around inside his L.L Bean coat. He pulled out a tiny, black, leather-bound notebook. He opened it up and began flipping through the pages. "I'll have you know," he said stiffly, "that it's not always a fun job, being the Adversary, although it is a constantly demanding task. I am forced to seek sources of leisure and amusement, when and where I can. One of the ways I've been amusing myself over the years is by keeping track of a list of my all-time favorite, ah, discorporations, from my demons."

"You mean," Crowley frowned, "our deaths?"

"Yes. Your deaths, you could say. The funniest ones get written down in here. Sometimes I like to look back through this little book, when I'm feeling sad or depressed or just plain bored, and it never fails to put a smile on my face." He beamed at the back of Crowley's head. "I think you'll be pleased to know that one of your deaths is number four on my list of my top ten favorites."

Crowley's face turned a very interesting color of red. "Please don't tell me that's the one with the camel--"

"Yes, it is. That time a camel bit your head off. 443 B.C."

Crowley coughed.

"I remember that!" Aziraphale suddenly exclaimed (causing Crowley to turn an even deeper shade of red). "I was there. I told you, you stupid demon, it's a bad idea to whip and abuse animals, they always get you back in the end, but no, of course, you wouldn't listen to me, and one day I was standing talking to you and that awful camel that you were always so mean to just walked right up to us and very rudely and completely without warning just sort of chomped down on your--"

"--That's enough, angel!--"

"--It was horrible, he was spitting chunks of brain and skull all over the street--"

The Bentley swerved dangerously into the oncoming lane of traffic, and Aziraphale clamped his mouth shut. Crowley took a deep breath, and re-steadied the wheel. "I said, that's enough, angel," Crowley repeated, his voice a low, dangerous hiss.

"Hmph." Aziraphale crossed his arms across his chest in a sullen gesture that indicated that he did not intend to apologize. But he did, at least, shut up.

Theo noticed that now Lucifer was wringing his hands nervously, his gaze flickering back and forth from Crowley to Aziraphale. _Oh,_ Theo realized with some surprise, _It's as if he actually feels badly about causing them to fight._

As if confirming Theo's hypothesis, Lucifer began flipping back through the pages of the little black book, and then he said the one thing that he knew would placate Crowley and put him back into a good mood. "I think you'll also be pleased to note, dear Crowley, that your friend Duke Hastur currently holds the place of numbers one, two, and three on the top ten list."

At that, Crowley actually did brighten up. "Really? Hastur?"

"Yes. He has terrible luck, up here on the surface. It's as if he can't handle himself properly around heavy machinery at all."

* * *

An hour later, the Bentley was parked and idling on a gravel country lane, some distance away from a rustic old cabin, tucked in the middle of a lowland forest. At the moment, the Bentley was sans angel, with everyone else sitting patiently in the car, waiting for him to return from what he had assured them would be a very short errand.

Without warning, without even so much as a puff of smoke or a flash of light or a dramatic popping noise, Aziraphale suddenly re-appeared in the shotgun seat, cradling a Colt M4 Carbine in his arms. He immediately leaned over and hissed into Crowley's ear, "Drive!"

Without waiting for any other cues, Crowley gunned the accelerator and swerved the Bentley around.

Gun shots rang out from the direction of the cabin.

"What'd you say to him this time?" Crowley asked as the Bentley roared back toward civilization.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "I told him that he had beautiful eyes. And he started shooting at me!"

"You came on to him?!"

"...No."

"But you--"

"Okay, maybe, yes, just a bit." Aziraphale sighed. "There's just something about such a hardy, strong, muscular man with such a large collection of guns... And he's such a fan of the Book, too. I find that very attractive."

"Well, at least you stole a gun like you were supposed to."

"Crowley! I did NOT steal anything. I do not steal."

"Then how'd you get that thing?"

"I asked him politely if I could take one. He shot at me, and I took that as a yes."

Crowley glanced at him sideways. More specifically, he glanced at the gun. "That's, uh... That's..."

"It's standard military issue, but highly illegal for a civilian to possess, at least in this country," Aziraphale rattled off calmly. "I'm particularly fond of this model, however. It's compatible with all US and NATO rifle grenades, has an effective range of six hundred meters, and can be modified quickly and easily into a fully automatic--"

"You know what, angel? Forget I asked."

* * *

Lucifer had a pair of binoculars. Nobody bothered to ask him where they had come from.

He scanned the horizons on both sides of the car as the Bentley roared through the black night, traveling the country motorways with as much speed as Crowley dared, occasionally swerving to avoid small, furry, stupid creatures that wandered out onto the perilous pavement.

The mood in the car was tense, despite the soothing strains of Vivaldi that washed out from the Bentley's speakers.

Theo was feeling very squished, sitting between Pauline and Lucifer. He also felt very blind. The night was pitch-black, the moon was non-existent, and low-lying clouds concealed the stars from view. Theo knew that the demons could see in the dark, and Aziraphale seemed to be looking around alertly as if he could see at least somewhat, but Theo couldn't see a foot ahead of where the Bentley's headlights illuminated the road passing swiftly beneath them.

"Don't see it yet," Lucifer said, to anybody who was listening.

Aziraphale tapped his fingers along the barrel of his rifle, in tune with the music.

Theo finally cleared his throat and asked, "Hey, um, how do we know that the miracle is still anywhere around here?"

Silence from everyone else.

Theo took a deep breath and continued. "I mean, uh, it could theoretically be anywhere, right? I dunno why it would necessarily have to come back to this country, or even to this island, when it could be anywhere in the whole world right now."

"Oh, shit," said Pauline.

"No," said Aziraphale quite calmly, "I think that we'll find it soon, somewhere near us."

"How do you know?" Theo challenged him.

"I've got a hunch."

"Oh, that's good to know." Theo rolled his eyes. "I suppose this is the part where you tell me that you feel a great disturbance in the Force?"

Aziraphale ignored Theo's comment. "The first time we stumbled upon it," Aziraphale reminded him, "it was waiting for us at home, remember? It may have taken itself on a joyride through Hell, but these sorts of mutants, on the rare occasion that they survive this long, tend inevitably to be drawn back to their creators. I think the miracle will come back to us very soon."

"And I think you're bullshitting," Pauline countered coldly. "I've never heard that one before. Mutant miracles are drawn back to their creators? Give me a break."

Aziraphale shrugged. "A hunch, that's all." Then he turned to Crowley and said, "Why don't we turn off into the next town? We should position ourselves near more humans."

"Why?"

"Because, if we want to draw out the mutant miracle again, we need to attract it to our position with the prospect of fresh targets." Aziraphale smiled a very un-angelic smile.

Crowley shot him a look, his yellow eyes gleaming in the dark night. "I'm not going to put any innocent humans in danger. We have no idea what that thing might to do a human target, anyway."

"There's no danger," Aziraphale soothed him. "It's fast, but not as fast as a speeding bullet. All we need to do is draw it out into the open. I can take care of the rest. Trust me."

"You couldn't shoot it last time, you know. It was certainly a lot faster than you were last time."

Aziraphale appeared to almost rankle at the insult. "I was merely caught by surprise," he sniffed. "It won't happen again."

The sky in the east was growing lighter.

"We're almost down to twenty-four hours," Pauline reminded them.

"Then it's settled. We're getting off at the next ramp."

Theo listened to the demons and the angel bicker for a few more moments, but finally, the Bentley pulled onto an off-ramp. The sun was rising in the east, although its glow was masked and diffused by a thick covering of gray clouds. Theo shivered, suddenly cold for the first time that night, despite the fact that he was pressed between two hellishly hot bodies.

And then, Theo's stomach rumbled audibly.

Lucifer, also known as Abbadon, the Adversary, the Angel of the Bottomless Pit, the Father of Lies, the Great Red Dragon, the Tempter, and the Wicked One, glanced down at him and asked, "Goodness, was that your tummy?"

Theo blushed a miserable shade of red. "Yessir," he mumbled.

"He's not properly an angel yet," Aziraphale explained, "and as a former human, he still needs food and sleep." He reached back into the back seat, and laid one hand reassuringly on Theo's knee. "Poor dear, you must be starving."

"Then we'll get him some breakfast," Crowley said. "First place I see, I'm pulling in. Any objections?"

"We'd prefer a soulless corporate fast food establishment," Pauline said, "But whatever you find first, I suppose."

* * *

Continued. 


	13. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended upsomehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!

* * *

Ordinary Miracles

by Nenena

* * *

Chapter 12

Graham, Billy. 1996. Breakfast with Billy Graham: 120 Daily Readings. Vine Books, Ann Arbor, Michigan. BV4811.G617

* * *

For a wonderful, delirious moment, Theo could almost believe that he was back in America, sitting on a bar stool in a roadside dive somewhere along the back roads of the Minnesota wilderness, on a camping trip or a hiking trip, out with his family. The chrome interior decor, the smell of frying bacon, the pleasant rumble in his stomach, and the tingling in his legs that signaled a break in a long and tiresome road trip - each sight, each smell, each sensation was so wonderfully familiar, so deliciously nostalgic! Then Theo glanced down and took a good look at the plastic-laminated menu that he was holding in his hands. He saw that the breakfast menu included baked beans in ketchup and blood pudding, and then reality came crashing back down around him. He was very much dead. He was very much in trouble with Heaven, he was very much currently being held hostage by a lunatic Satan and his lawyer, and... He was very hungry, and, most unfortunately, he was stuck on a northern island on the wrong side of the Atlantic, famous for hosting the worst cuisine in the Western hemisphere.

Theo sighed wearily and slumped down in his seat. "I hate my life," he muttered.

Aziraphale patted his back reassuringly. "There, there. You must be wrong about that. You're dead, remember?"

Theo glanced up at him, and something in his face must have looked miserably wretched, because Aziraphale immediately became flustered and somewhat embarrassed. "Er, sorry, was that the wrong sort of thing to say?"

"Yes."

"Sorry," Aziraphale said again, obviously at a loss as to what else he could say.

" 'S okay," Theo mumbled. At least the angel cared. He couldn't say or do anything right, but at least he still cared, and at least he was still trying.

Theo and Aziraphale were sitting on bar stools in front of a grease-stained counter that ran the length of a little off-road diner that had just opened a few moments ago. The demons were sitting in a booth at the opposite end of the restaurant, apparently determined not to order anything, trying desperately to make conversation with each other, although Crowley only wanted to talk about his knitting, Lucifer wanted to listen to himself whine about how wretched he had become, and Pauline wanted to sit silently and brood about all of the ways that she was going to make Theo suffer for an eternity if he couldn't kill the runaway miracle and reverse all of its changes within the next twenty-four hours. They had segregated themselves, Theo thought with some amusement, as neatly and efficiently as the boys and the girls always segregated themselves at all the junior high school dances he had ever attended. Demons on one side of the restaurant, angels on the other.

They were, Theo realized, pretty far away from each other.

And it was a big restaurant. He and Aziraphale were definitely out of the Devil's reach, at least for the moment.

Theo leaned over to Aziraphale and whispered as quietly as he dared, "We could bolt. Now."

"Excuse me?"

"We could run for it."

"But they have the car."

"We can run into the woods and the wetlands, where they can't follow."

"Theo, we can't leave them now." Aziraphale placed one heavy, sad hand on Theo's shoulder. "Just look at the poor dears. It's our fault, and it's because of our miracle, that they ended up this way in the first place. We have to take responsibility for our mistake. If we stay with them, we have a good chance of actually being able to hunt the miracle down."

Theo stared at his menu, and then at the greasy countertop, for a long time.

Then he finally sighed, blowing his breath out through his nose, and said, "You're right. I'm sorry. You're really right." He leaned in close to Aziraphale and whispered, "But I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"Well, say we do find and kill the miracle, and then everything goes back to the way it was. What then? We're gonna be right next to the Devil himself when he figures out how to be evil again, and... It's... I mean, I don't trust them. I especially don't trust that Pauline, and I really don't trust Satan. They frighten me."

Aziraphale squeezed Theo's shoulder tightly. "I'll be there too, Theo. I'll be right there beside you, and I'm not going to let anybody hurt you. I swear on my own two wings. I'll protect you from anyone and anything. I promise you that." He swallowed then, and said, his voice shaking, "I am not going to fail you again. Please, please believe me. I'm not going to let you down again."

"Hey." Theo gave Aziraphale the most hopeful smile he could muster, given the circumstances. "Of course I believe you. No sweat." He leaned in close to the angel and whispered, "Thank you."

"No sweat," Aziraphale echoed him.

"And I'm sorry."

"About what?"

"About everything that you had to go through yesterday. It's my fault. It's because of my miracle."

Aziraphale shrugged. "Don't be sorry. It was quite a lot of fun, I can assure you. And I was doing those men a whole lot of good."

Theo managed to even laugh at that remark. "And I was so worried, too. I was so worried that you might have turned into some sort of serial killer, and some sort of monster, or--"

"Nothing of the sort. Instead, now I'm a movie star. Isn't that exciting?"

Then the waitress behind the counter coughed loudly, and Theo suddenly jerked away from the angel, blushing, embarrassed. "You gonna order?" the waitress asked, tapping her foot audibly.

"Just cocoa for me," Aziraphale said pleasantly. He folded up his menu and primly wiped the grease off it with a napkin.

"I'll have, uh..." Theo stared off into space for a moment, trying desperately to make a decision, although nothing listed on the menu had struck him as particularly appetizing. "Uh, maybe, uh, some toast and--"

His breath suddenly caught in his throat.

He stopped, and stared.

The waitress, tapping her pen impatiently against her notepad, glared at him. "Toast and what?"

But Theo couldn't answer. His eyes were transfixed on the horrifying sight visible just beyond the waitress's shoulder.

Something huge, blob-like, and glittering, was slowly oozing through the wall.

* * *

Five minutes earlier, the conversation at the demons' table had suddenly taken a very interesting turn.

"If we loop back around on the motorway," Pauline was saying, tracing along a map she had unfolded on their table with the edge of one sharp, red fingernail, "we can scope out all the little towns along this way. The closest is..." She squinted. "Lower Tadfield. And then--"

"We'll skip the first one," Lucifer said curtly.

She blinked at him, surprised. "Sir?"

"I said, we'll skip it. I'm Abbadon, the Adversary, the Angel of the Bottomless Pit, the Father of Lies, the Great Red Dragon, the Tempter, and the Wicked One, and if I say we should skip a town, we'll skip it."

Crowley folded his hands primly on the table and said firmly, "Sir, I think we should go."

"No."

"We ought to search every square foot that we can for--"

"No."

"Sir, you're being childish."

"Don't take that tone of voice with me, Crowley."

"What tone of voice?"

"I'm warning you, Crowley. When we're through with all this, so help me, I'll drag you back Down home with my own two hands and I'll... I'll... I'll, uh... Pauline, a little help...?"

Pauline sighed and pushed her gold-rimmed glasses up on her nose. Then she suggested a list of some very colorful activities that started with drawing and quartering and ended with being boiled alive in hot oil.

Lucifer actually paled as he listened to her suggestions. "Um, couldn't I just sit him down for a serious talk and some tea with little sandwiches?"

"No meat or eggs or cheese in my sandwiches, please," Crowley requested politely.

Pauline suddenly slammed her fist down on the table. "Would both of you please shut up for a minute?!" she hissed angrily.

Lucifer looked taken aback. "P-P-Pauline!" he stuttered.

"Listen," she said, jabbing one long, slender finger at him, "I don't care WHAT sort of stupid emotional issues you have with your idiot delinquent son, we CAN'T afford to leave any ground unchecked, and we are GOING to Lower Tadfield to hunt for our miracle! Besides, if we're lucky, we probably won't even run into him."

Lucifer gaped at her. "How did you know that he's still in Lower Tadfield?"

"Beelzebub is a gossip," Pauline said icily.

"Fine." Lucifer rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily, as if fending off a headache. "Fine. We'll go through Lower Tadfield. But we must avoid seeing the child at all costs--"

"I don't think we should avoid him, sir," Crowley said calmly.

Lucifer glared at him. "And why not?"

"Because he might be helpful to us. Really, really useful."

"How so?"

"Well, remember what happened last time?"

"Yes. That's exactly why I don't want to see the brat ever again. HE chose the wrong side. I don't think I could restrain myself if I laid eyes on him again..."

"Restrain yourself," Crowley asked pointedly, "from what?"

"From... From... " Lucifer looked at his own hands helplessly. "Last time, all I wanted to do was to destroy him, rip him limb from limb, tear him apart with my own claws, kill him and kill him and kill him until there wouldn't be any of him left to return to Heaven or to Hell... But this time... Right now... The way that I am now... " He finally slumped over and buried his head in his hands. "All I want to do is give him a hug. And that's even worse. That's a thousand times worse."

"Sir," said Crowley brightly, "I think that's splendid."

"No, it's unspeakably despicable. For crying out loud, I'm the Angel of the Bottomless Pit, I shouldn't be feeling things like this!"

"And you're only egging him on," Pauline said as she shot an icy glare at Crowley. "Either way, however, we can't avoid not going to Lower Tadfield, if we need to find--"

"Too late," Crowley said suddenly. "It's already here. See it over there?"

* * *

The waitress glared daggers at Theo. "Well?" she huffed impatiently. Something huge and glittery lurked behind her, sitting perfectly still, wiggling slightly as the breeze from an overhead heating vent buffeted its gelatinous mass.

Aziraphale placed one hand on Theo's knee. "Order," he whispered.

"Bacon," Theo gulped.

"Bacon," the waitress repeated, scribbling it down on her notepad. She turned back toward the kitchen and marched, angrily, through the back door.

She walked right through the miracle.

For a moment, twisted strands of glittering equations seemed to surge around her, pawing at her hair and uniform. Then, in two steps, she walked right out of the mass of shimmering jelly, and straight through the swinging doors into the kitchen. She didn't even blink. Theo caught one glimpse of her as she passed through the swinging doors, and saw that she was covered from head to toe in miracle slime, with a few stray numbers caught in her hair. But she didn't even seem to notice.

"She walked right through it," Theo breathed.

"Humans can't see it, remember?" Aziraphale said quietly. He was sliding off his stool as slowly as possible. "I'm going out to the car to get the Colt. You stay put."

"Stay put?!" Theo clutched at the angel's sleeve. "It's three feet in front of me, and you know that it knows that we know that it knows that it's three feet in front of me! I don't want that thing to touch me--!"

"It's playing with us," Aziraphale said quietly. "We have to play along. The minute you try to make a run for it, it'll run you down faster than--"

"And what happens when you come back in here, and it sees you holding that M4 Carbine?"

"Er--"

"Are you going to do something, angel, or what?!" Pauline called from across the restaurant. The demons were up and out of their seats, edging toward the exit, looking expectantly at Aziraphale.

At that moment, the waitress returned, stepping back through the swinging kitchen doors, and right back through the miracle. She absent-mindedly wiped her slimy hands on a dishtowel, flung a slimy lock of hair out of her eyes, and asked Theo, "You want two or three pieces of bacon?"

"Three," Theo answered faintly.

The waitress glanced down at her hands. She looked suddenly befuddled. "Sorry, um, must've left m'pad an' pencil back there--"

"No," said Theo, "The blob took it."

She glanced up at him sharply. There was even glittering slime running down her face. She didn't seem to feel or notice it at all. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Theo said.

Then, without warning, the blob surged forward.

* * *

It rose up and flowed over the counter faster than Theo had ever seen it move before.

At first, he was frozen, unable to move, completely gripped by a paralyzing panic. _I'll drown,_ he thought frantically, even thought a very tiny, rational part of his brain knew otherwise,_ I'll drown in that thing and it'll eat me up for its breakfast--_

The edge of the blob touched his frozen fingertips. It felt warm, runny, like a living, viscous fluid. Theo opened his mouth and screamed.

In another second, it would have engulfed him, had not Theo felt himself suddenly being pulled backwards.

A powerful backstroke of enormous white wings propelled Theo away from the miracle, as Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the boy's chest and squeezed tightly. Theo caught one glimpse of the waitress's astonished face, and then his view was filled with the glittering mass of the blob, that was rushing after them.

"Hold on," Aziraphale grunted, as he twisted Theo around, whirling so that they were no longer flying backwards, and rushing toward the exit of the diner.

_We'll never fit through that door, his wings are too big--_

"Hold on," Aziraphale repeated, and then, with a weary sigh, "I hate doing this."

Theo clutched at the angel, and suddenly felt something twist inside his stomach. Then they both passed through the outer wall of the diner as if it were made of nothing more than air. So, too, did the blob, as it rushed after them.

"Whoa," gasped Theo, feeling himself grow solid again. "Whoa."

* * *

"This way this way this way this way!"

Three demons streamed out of the diner, running parallel to the blob. Crowley was the fastest, and he sprinted ahead, practically diving into the driver's seat of the Bentley. He had barely enough time to turn his keys in the ignition and bring the engine roaring to life before Aziraphale and Theo literally crashed into the back seat. Feathers flew everywhere, and Crowley heard Aziraphale trying to muffle a cry of pain as one of his wings bent painfully back behind him, having smashed into an edge on the inside of the car. Crowley pulled up the hand-brake and slammed his foot on the accelerator, throwing the Bentley backwards, up over the curb of the parking lot, and into a grassy ditch. He remembered to switch gears, did so, cursed loudly, and sent the car roaring forward again.

Satan and his lawyer managed to catch up to the car and jump into the back seat, struggling to avoid Aziraphale's wings, just as the blob flowed over the grassy ditch where the car had just been.

The Bentley screamed forward, tearing onto the nearest two-lane country road its wheels could find. The roads were deserted out in the middle of nowhere at this time of the morning, which was a good thing, because at the speed that Crowley was going, he surely would have killed anyone or anything unlucky enough to cross his path, and in his current state of mind, he actually would have felt badly about it.

The blob was fast, but it was no match for a speeding car. And, after a moment, it began to grow smaller, and then fade from sight behind them.

Aziraphale finally managed to sit fully upright in the back seat, and sighed wearily. His wings were gone, but Pauline was still picking feathers out of her hair, and there was currently one person too many in the back of the Bentley, which meant that Aziraphale and Theo were practically sitting on the Devil's lap. "Pardon," Aziraphale said as he climbed awkwardly over Theo and up into the empty shotgun seat beside Crowley.

"How's your wing?" Crowley asked, not taking his eyes off the road for a second.

"In searing pain, but I've had worse." Aziraphale winced as he settled into his seat. Even though his wings seemed to have disappeared completely, Theo still wondered if that didn't mean that the angel still couldn't feel them, if they were in pain.

The Bentley blasted down the road, through the cold winter morning. Frosty wind whipped the occupants of the roofless car, although Theo felt, as usual, as if he were baking in mid-summer heat, what with sitting himself next to the Devil and all. For some reason, Lucifer seemed to radiating heat, although the man-shaped creature himself actually shivered in the cold wind, and drew his L.L. Bean coat closer around him. Pauline was buttoning up her gray coat and sinking as close in to her seat as dignity would allow, the blowing wind angrily teasing more and more strands of her curled blonde hair out of its severe bun.

Theo took one glance back down the road from whence they had come, and could no longer see the blob following them. "What's going to happen to that waitress, then?" he asked nobody in particular.

Aziraphale shrugged. "We don't know. There's no way to tell how that miracle would affect a human. Because of the time-delay effect, we may never know. She's back there, we're going this way, and there's no way in Heaven or Hell that we're about to turn around anytime soon and find out. Because we were partially wrong, as far as predicting the miracle's behavior was concerned," he continued quietly. "It doesn't seem particularly interested in new human targets. It was definitely going after Theo."

Theo shrank down into his seat. "Why me?"

Pauline waved one hand vaguely. "It's just like any Frankenstein tale. The monster is out to destroy its creator."

"But it doesn't destroy," Theo whispered, more to himself than to Pauline. "It changes people, but it doesn't destroy them."

Pauline shook her head. "No," she said, and there was a strange sadness in her voice that Theo had never heard before, and had never expected to ever hear, coming from her. "If it can change a person into someone entirely different, is that any different than destroying them altogether?"

"Either way," Lucifer said suddenly, "if this angel is actually right, then it's following us right now. We don't have to look for it anymore. The next place that we stop, it will catch up, and come right to us."

"Then we're definitely stopping in Lower Tadfield," Crowley said firmly. "I know that you may think otherwise, sir, but your son may yet prove to be the most useful agent you have left yet."

* * *

Continued. 


	14. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended upsomehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!

* * *

Ordinary Miracles 

by Nenena

* * *

Chapter 13 

Klatte, William C. 1999. Live-Away Dads: staying a part of your children's lives when they aren't a part of your home. Penguin Books, New York. HQ756.K52

* * *

It was Saturday morning, and it was wretchedly cold outside, and there was a layer of thick yet severely un-fresh, dirtying snow all over the ground. The sky was the color of dull, slate gray. Adam let the weather deter him from going outside just long enough to justify a bowl of sugary cereal and an hour or so of cartoons on the television; then he was off, with his coat and his hat and his little rat of a dog in tow. 

Deirdre Young, beleaguered wife and mother of two, although it sometimes felt as though she were a mother of eight, took a deep, grateful breath as she stood over the kitchen sink, cleaning up the remains from breakfast. At last, some peace and quiet. Her husband had gone in to the office and had promised to be home by noon; Adam had also promised to be back for lunch, although Deirdre had had enough experience to know that, in his mind, this meant that all he had really promised was to be home before nightfall. Deirdre didn't mind - she would enjoy having the house to herself, for once. Even the dog was gone, thank the Lord. She could finally relax for the day. She could do practically whatever she wanted - she could even spend all day in a hot bubble bath, reading a book, if she so desired! Whatever housework needed to be done could certainly wait, and it wasn't as if she had any other pressing engagements for the day. In fact, the bubble bath was beginning to look better and better. Deirdre hummed to herself pleasantly, lost in happy anticipation of the day to come, as she finished off the dishes.

The doorbell chimed.

Deirdre hurriedly wiped her hands on a towel. "Coming, coming," she called out as she walked briskly toward the door. She hoped that it was a salesperson. She'd always enjoyed rudely slamming the doors on salespersons. She would never dare do anything of the sort when her husband was home, but he was gone for the moment, and today was her day, and she was going to do whatever she darn well pleased.

Deirdre opened the door and saw a tall, red-haired man in a black winter coat. He smiled at her, very pleasantly, and said, "Hello."

Deirdre stared at him. "Hello," she echoed.

He smiled at her.

She raised one eyebrow at him. "Can I help you?"

He tried to peer into the house around her shoulder. "Is your son around?"

"Oh, no," Deirdre groaned. "What'd he do this time? Pull up your flowers? Break off part of a fence? Break one of your windows? Did he--?"

"No, although I'd certainly be very proud of him if he did." The red-haired man's grin was broadening, and he really did have a pleasant smile. "Would you mind if we--?"

"You have to let us in," a curt blonde woman suddenly interrupted him, pushing her way in front of the man and angrily thrusting a wad of documents in Mrs. Young's face. "We have papers."

Deirdre stared blankly at said papers. They appeared to be covered in strange, sharp black symbols arranged in a pattern of pure gibberish. Still, there was something extremely disquieting, almost sinister, about the way that the writing seemed to almost lurk on the page in front of her, as if it would start squirming around if she would only look at it long enough. Deirdre reached out and pushed the other woman's hand aside. "Is this some sort of joke?" she asked, now beginning to feel somewhat impatient. Her hot bubble bath was being delayed further and further every minute.

The blonde apparently did not appreciate Deirdre's gesture. She glared icily at the other woman and hissed, "This is not a joke. I have your son's birth certificate, social insecurity number, and Infernal registration right here." She gave the wad of papers in her hand a jerky little wave. "Plus his baby handprints and hoofprints. THIS is the boy's biological father." She jerked one thumb at the red-haired man. "I think that makes us entitled to enter your home."

Deirdre glanced up at the red-haired man, who was now blushing slightly, as if embarrassed. "No," she said, quite confidently, "I don't think so. He can't be the boy's father. I would know."

"How would you know?" The blonde looked aghast at the suggestion.

Deirdre wondered if she was dealing with someone who lacked even a basic understanding of how reproductive plumbing worked. "I assure you," she repeated calmly, "I would know. He's my son."

"No, actually, he's not."

The red-haired man coughed, obviously embarrassed. "Technically, thereisn'tanymother," he said quickly. "It was a solo project."

"Now that's interesting." Deirdre placed her hands on her hips. "Are you loonies from the tabloids?"

"The whatl-oids?"

"I'm sorry, but I've had enough of this." Deirdre made as if to slam the door--

The red-haired man shot out one hand and held the door open. For a brief moment, something hot and red flashed in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said politely, "But we really must come in and see him. They've managed to talk me into coming here already, and now that I'm standing here, I realize that we have no more choice in the matter... You see, we need his help."

"You need my son's help?" Deirdre was incredulous.

"Yes, believe it or not."

"I don't believe it. And I'm certainly not going to let an obviously insane and probably dangerous individual like you anywhere near my--"

The red-haired man sighed. "It's times like this that I miss my pitch-fork," he commented wearily to someone standing behind him.

"With all due respect, sir, I don't think that she's going to believe you, unless you give her any sort of reason to do so," said a third voice.

Deirdre craned her neck and glanced over the red-haired man's shoulder. There were others standing behind him - two men and a young boy, the latter hardly a few years older than her own son. One of the older men, a pudgy blonde, was also cradling an enormous semi-automatic weapon in his arms.

That was the final straw. "I've had enough of you all," she hissed, and slammed the door shut on them without warning. "Leave this property right now, or I shall call the police!" she practically screamed at the shut door.

A split second later, the door was gone. It vanished as if it had never been there in the first place. Deirdre found herself staring at the red-haired man standing on her stoop again, who mumbled an apology and asked, "Would you please at least grant us the courtesy of letting us come in and hearing us out?"

Deirdre stared up at the top of the empty doorframe, and then stared back at him again. "How'd you do that?" she asked in a small, breathless voice.

"I'm the Devil," he said, beginning to grin again. "And for the past twelve years, you've been raising my son."

"Oh," said Deirdre, quite calmly. "Oh. Well. That certainly explains a lot."

* * *

Deirdre let them come in. 

One by one, they filed into the house. Deirdre only held out a hand to stop the blonde man and say, "I'm sorry, but you can't bring that rifle in here."

"But I can't put it down again," he said, very reasonably. "We're being hunted."

"Fine. All right," said Mrs. Young testily, since she was no longer in a mood to argue. "Bring it on in, go shoot somebody in the head, see how sorry you'll feel."

"That depends on who I actually shoot in the head," said Aziraphale pleasantly.

From somewhere within the living room, the Devil gave a great, dismayed cry. "Just LOOK at this!" Deirdre heard him exclaim. "They've got little ceramic angels and - and - and - what is THIS supposed to be?!"

Deirdre rushed into the room and found him holding a framed photographof the Young family, grinning at the camera and arranged around a vicar wearing a black cassock and green stole. Deirdre was holding baby Adam inher arms, the angelic-looking baby dressed in a white christening robe.

The Devil whirled on Mrs. Young. "You BAPTIZED him?!"

"Well, of course!"

Then the Devil whirled on Crowley, who was seating himself on a sofa and pausing to admire the kitschy ceramic cherubim arranged on a shelf nearby. "You!" the Devil said, pointing an accusatory finger at Crowley. "You were supposed to prevent things like this from happening!"

"Things like what?"

"Holy water! They actually doused him in holy water! HE COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED!"

"Well, he obviously wasn't." Crowley was smiling pleasantly, albeit a bit spacily, at Lucifer. Now that he was away from his car, he seemed to have reverted back into being a perfectly good, angelic being again. "No harm done, right?"

"Give me that back," Mrs. Young cried out angrily, snatching the framed picture out of the Devil's hands. "You're getting greasy handprints all over it!"

"Er, sorry." Lucifer looked suddenly flustered. "I didn't mean to yell, my apologies, I--"

"Are you sure that you're the Devil?" Mrs. Young eyed him suspiciously. "I didn't know that the Devil ever apologized for anything."

"Yes, well, I am, but I, uh, I have, uh, right now, I, um..." The Devil trailed off, then coughed self-consciously. "I'm impaired," he finally finished, lamely.

"But he is the Adversary," Pauline said quickly. Then she turned toward him and suggested, "Sir, why don't you show her your tail? That should prove it."

Lucifer blushed a deep shade of red. "Pauline, I can't show that to a stranger!"

"Oh, so now you're modest, too?" Pauline snorted with disgust. "It's worse than I thought."

Lucifer, still blushing, sat down on the sofa next to Crowley, and took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm himself down. Pauline pushed him aside and sat on the other side of him, setting her briefcase carefully down beside her. There were other large, overstuffed chairs in the room; Aziraphale took one, cradling the Colt in his arms as he sat down, and Mrs. Young took the other. Theo sat on the floor next to his angel, and tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, suddenly overcome with a horrible curiosity and anticipation regarding the conversation that was about to come.

"So," said Mrs. Young calmly, steepling her fingers together. "So you're the Devil."

"That's right." Lucifer nodded. "But you can call me Lucifer. And this is one of my demons, Crowley."

"Hello," said Crowley pleasantly.

"And this is my lawyer, Pauline."

"Greetings," Pauline said icily.

Lucifer made a vague gesture in the direction of Aziraphale and Theo. "And those'r supposed to be some angels."

"Er, hello," said Aziraphale nervously, fully aware of how dangerously insane he appeared as long as he was still holding the M4 Carbine in his arms. Theo nodded respectfully to Mrs. Young, but said nothing.

"And my son is supposed to be your son?" Mrs. Young asked carefully.

"Yes, but..." Lucifer shifted uncomfortably. "I have the distinct feeling that he already chose to retire from the whole Antichrist occupation. Which is a shame, really. I did so want for him to take part in the family business, you understand."

"Pardon me for asking, but what exactly is your, ah, family business?"

"World domination."

"I see."

"Although we participate in many other side ventures as well," Pauline added hastily. "We have branches devoted to the damning of mortal souls, the eternal torture of mortal souls, spreading misery and injustice throughout the Earth, and sustaining the popularity of reality television programming."

"That last bit was my idea," added Crowley, modestly. Then he blushed and said, "Er, sorry."

"It's a very demanding business, being, you know, the Evil side of the universe," Lucifer said. "But we manage to hold it all together. Well, we did, that is, until last year, when my son decided to derail a little project that I'd been working on since the dawn of time."

"Good for him," said Mrs. Young dryly, who was certainly clever enough to figure out immediately exactly what affair the Devil was so politely alluding to.

"Yes, well, um." Lucifer coughed uncomfortably. "I was, er, understandably upset about it at the time."

"I'll bet you were."

"I even went so far as to try to approach him and, er, give him a piece of my mind."

"You mean, break out the old whipping belt?"

"Metaphorically."

"My husband and I," said Mrs. Young coolly, "do not approve of such things."

"Well, that's because you're not nearly evil enough," Lucifer said, as if he were explaining this to a particularly thick child. "Although," he admitted, shame-faced, "Now that I look back on that, it did seem to be the wrong thing to do. Which was, actually, the right thing to do, at the time, because it's right for me to do the wrong thing, am I right? But right now, due to circumstances outside of my control, all I can seem to want to do anymore is the right thing. Which is extremely disconcerting, because for me, the right thing to do is usually the wrong thing to do. But now, it's as though the wrong thing to do is the wrong thing to do, and the right thing to do is the right thing to do. How screwed up is that?!" He pressed his fingers to his nose again, as if warding off a headache, and sighed. "What I'm saying is, I would like to see my son again, very much, if only to properly apologize to him. That, and we need his help. We all seem to be in a pickle right now, Mrs. Young, and my little boy is the only being I know left in this universe with connections to Hell, a reason to listen to me, and the power to be of any use to us."

"You mean, you want to use him."

Lucifer stared at her, aghast.

But she only set her chin and shook her head. "I'm terribly sorry, but the answer has to be no. I can't let him anywhere near you. I'm his mother, and of course I'm not going to let him within sight of you. Either you're a lunatic who claims to be the Devil, or you really are the Devil... Either way, can't you see that you're not the type of person that I want my little boy around?"

Lucifer scratched the back of his neck. "I understand your position, but--"

"You're NOT his mother," Pauline cut in.

Mrs. Young turned toward Pauline and narrowed her eyes. "I'm not, am I? Then who is?"

Everybody turned expectantly to stare at Lucifer.

"Thereisnomother," he coughed, blushing a bright red. "Well, technically not. I think it was just a solo project..."

"Then where did the baby come from?" Aziraphale asked, quite reasonably.

"Um..." Lucifer blushed an even brighter shade of red. "If I say it, you'll laugh."

"A cabbage patch?" asked Aziraphale, in a voice that sounded as if he were confirming one of his deepest fears.

"No... It was a stork. There was a stork involved."

"Ah," everybody said at once. Nobody bothered to ask exactly in what capacity the stork had been involved.

"Regardless," Mrs. Young continued coolly, "any claims to paternal biology aside, this is MY son that we're discussing here. I'm the one who raised him, I'm the one who cared for him for all these years, I'm the one who loves him, and I'm the one who has the authority to make decisions like this for him." She stood up, resolutely, and pointed dramatically at the door. "Out! Out with you, the lot of you! I don't want to see any of you fools setting foot on my property ever again, or so help me God, I'll pull out my husband's crowbar and--"

Aziraphale made a "tsk" sound in the back of his throat.

She whirled on him. "I don't see what gives you any right to take the moral high ground!" she practically snarled, casting a meaningful glare at the Colt in his arms.

* * *

Less than thirty seconds later, they were all standing out on the porch again, and Mrs. Young slammed the front door (which had just popped back into existence) from behind them. 

Crowley gave a painful little wince as the door slammed.

"Well," snarled Pauline nastily, casting dirty glares at all of them in turn, as if they were all equally to blame, "That was certainly a waste of time. And we are definitely running OUT of time." She fixed her angriest gaze on Lucifer. "Sir, if you would've just let me have at her, I could have gotten your son in less than a minute, two minutes, tops--"

"No, Pauline," Lucifer sighed wearily. "No. No blood. Not here."

"What now?" asked Aziraphale, as they were all still standing outside the Youngs' house again. "It could be here any minute!"

Crowley was giving a long, careful look at Aziraphale's rifle. Then, he drawled slowly, "No, it should have already been here. I saw how fast that thing was moving. It would have caught up to us by now."

"What are you getting at?" Pauline tapped her foot impatiently, frowning at Crowley.

"That." Crowley pointed at the Colt. "Aziraphale told me that last time, it hesitated when he showed a gun to it. I bet it must be able to see that weapon that he's got now, and it certainly isn't going to show itself to us as long as we have that in our party. I'm beginning to think it only jumped us in the diner this morning because it saw that the idiot angel had left his rifle back in the car."

"You mean..." Pauline glanced around suspiciously. "You think it's already here? It could be watching us right now?"

"Probably. Which means that we have to find a way to draw it out into the open." Crowley's eyes then fell upon Theo, and he grinned a grin that was astoundingly reminiscent of the old, demonic Crowley that Theo knew. "We need bait," Crowley said.

Theo gulped.

* * *

Continued. 


	15. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended upsomehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!

* * *

Ordinary Miracles

by Nenena

* * *

Chapter 14

Reid, Dennis C. 1999. Love and Other Things that Hurt. Black Moss Press, Windsor, Ontario. PR9199.3.R4215 L68

* * *

As if reading Crowley's mind, Aziraphale said, "You want us to split up."

"Yesssss."

"But Theo can't come with me?"

"No," said Lucifer, with great finality, reaching out and grasping Theo's shoulder, pulling him back close. Theo stumbled toward the Devil and gulped. "He's my hostage," Lucifer said, "and he'll stay with me."

"We'll search the town and the woodlands around it," Crowley said hurriedly. "On foot, of course. And the angel will go out to some unpopulated area nearby and stay there, holding one position. It's bound to try to pick off at least one of us, _other_ than the angel with the gun, once it sees us separated. It'll probably go for Theo, but we can't be sure, since it's probably clever enough to know that we can predict its moves by now. But as long as we have wings, we can move faster than it can - er, just barely. Anyway, if it comes for us, we'll run, and we'll lead it straight back to the angel."

"Crowley," said Lucifer, with great admiration, reaching out to pat the demon on the back, "That is the best idea you have ever had. Really, just the best. Better than the Spanish Inquisition, in fact."

Crowley was blushing furiously. "No, really, sir, it's nothing--"

"If we all survive this," Lucifer continued, ignoring Crowley's modest protests, "and I keep conveniently forgetting that I'm supposed to be mad enough at you to kill you, then mark my words, you'll be getting a commendation for this."

"Aw," said Crowley, every minute trace of the sinisterness that had shown up only moments before suddenly erased from his features, "shucks."

But Aziraphale was giving them both a cold, hard look. "It's most likely going to come after Theo," he said, turning to face the Devil fully. "Are you sure that you'll be able to protect him long enough, if that should happen?"

"I assure you," Lucifer soothed, "with or without the effects of your miracle, I'm still the Father of Lies and the Angel of the Bottomless Pit, and I still have full use of all of my powers. Besides," he said, finally remembering himself, if only for a moment, "this boy is still my hostage, remember? If I say that he's coming with me, then you don't get any say in the matter."

"But I'm the one with the gun."

"Er..." The Devil paused at that.

Aziraphale sighed, then glanced down and locked eyes with Theo. "How about you, Theo? What do you think of this idea?"

Theo looked at Aziraphale, looked at Crowley, looked back at Aziraphale, swallowed nervously, licked his lips, and said, "It sounds like a reasonable plan to me."

"Well." Aziraphale shifted his gun in his arms. "It's settled, then." He glanced back at Theo, quickly, and there was something in his eyes that Theo could not quite read. Perhaps it was admiration for Theo's bravery, agreeing to go alone into the woods with the Devil at his side. Or perhaps it was disappointment at Theo's foolishness. Aziraphale then turned back to the others and said, "Let's go. We'll head out to one position together, and then we'll split up."

_I can hardly wait,_ Theo thought, with a tingle of dread in his stomach.

* * *

They piled into the Bentley and drove to the outskirts of Lower Tadfield. They abandoned the car in a gravel parking lot, and headed on foot into the snowy woods. Once they found a distant clearing where Aziraphale was sure that he could fire off his rifle without anybody else hearing, they split up. Aziraphale prowled around the clearing, staying behind, while Theo and the Devil walked off in one direction, and Crowley and Pauline in another.

Theo walked beside and then slightly behind Lucifer, as they crunched their way across the snow-covered forest floor. They walked in silence for several minutes, then Theo heard a small, breathy sigh escape the Devil's lips. He took two quick steps to position himself right beside Lucifer as they walked along, and then glanced up, searching for something to see in Lucifer's strangely lined, weary-looking face. Theo saw immediately that there was something very sad in his eyes.

Theo finally stopped walking, and the Devil, surprised, stumbled over his next step, and then stopped, too. "You really had your heart set on seeing him again, didn't you?" Theo said, more of a statement than a question, although he could not disguise the questioning, incredulous note in his voice.

Lucifer whirled on him. "See who?" he snapped, as if he had already forgotten.

"Your son."

"He probably could have helped us," Lucifer admitted, grudgingly. "He certainly set everything right with a snap of his fingers, last time." Lucifer sighed then, and added, "I was even hoping that he could provide some insurance for us, as well. If we don't find and destroy this miracle of yours within the next few hours... If all the changes that it has wrought become permanent... Then there's still a chance, albeit a small chance, that my son might still be powerful enough to undo all the damage that's been done. With a wave of his hands, he once set the whole world right back to the way that it had been before. I thought maybe he might be able to do that again, for us."

Theo raised one eyebrow at the Devil. "So that's really it, huh? That's the only reason you wanted to talk to him?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's just sort of fishy, the way that your story changes every time. When's the last time you actually saw him, anyway?"

"When he was this big." Lucifer made a gesture with his hands, indicating something tiny and round. "When he had just come into the world and he still had his little baby hooves," he added wistfully, a sad, nostalgic smile creeping across his face. "Those hooves fell off the moment he hit the Surface, I was told. Replaced by five-toed feet, which is a bit of a disappointment, as far as I'm concerned. I haven't seen him since. I tried to meet him again, once - last year -but he rejected me. He turned me away."

"I heard that you were coming to kill him."

"Well, yes. I was angry with him."

"Being rejected like that hurts, doesn't it?"

Lucifer's face clouded over. "Listen, we should probably keep going. We need to find--"

"At the Youngs' house, you said that you wanted to apologize to him," Theo pressed on, persistently.

Lucifer winced, as if stung. "That was your miracle's fault."

"But it's true, isn't it?"

Lucifer heaved a great, weary sigh, and, defeated, finally slumped down onto a tree stump that had appeared beneath him only a moment before. He rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. "Yes, that's exactly it," he moaned. "I wanted to see him now because I knew that I might never get another chance to say anything nice or kind to him." He took a deep, shuddering breath, but did not cry. "I wanted to apologize for the horrible thing that I almost did last year, I wanted to tell him that I couldn't just bring another life into the world and then turn around and hate it forever, I wanted to tell him that he'd always be a part of me and that he'd always be in my thoughts, and that nothing could ever change that; I wanted to tell him that I could never stop loving him, that part of me always felt for him and part of me always will feel for him. I wanted to tell him that when he was first born into the world I held him in my arms and felt real wonder for the first time because I had never known what it was like to create something so beautiful, or to create anything at all, to create instead of to destroy." He sniffled, raised his head, and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his coat. "I wanted to tell him that I was proud of him. Because he did the one thing that none of us, angel or demon, had ever managed to be able to do before."

"Which is...?"

"He was the one who decided to fuck everything over." Lucifer laughed a bitter little laugh, then blushed at his obscenity. But when he saw Theo still standing, staring at him patiently, he knew that he had no choice but to continue. "So look at me and my demons, okay? So we try to rebel against God, and we've been trying to rebel against God since before this world ever came into being, and it turns out that, every step of the way, we've been predicted, prophesized, pre-recorded, and written down in some holy Book or another, almost everything that we do, right down the minutest little detail. Every time we think we've succeeded in outsmarting or outwitting God, it turns out that we were only doing exactly what someone, somewhere, had already predicted we would do; we were still only pawns in His hands, acting out according to His designs. And then this little pup comes along, this little whelp of a Antichrist, and with a few words and a wave of his hands, he succeeds in doing something that nobody, nowhere, had ever predicted or written down in any Book. In fact, he makes things end completely differently from the way that THE Book says that they're supposed to end. Which is to say, nothing ended at all. There haven't been any predictions or holy scripts written since. Nobody knows what to think about the future anymore, because it's not written down, anywhere. It's like he finally freed us all from something, although I'm not sure exactly what from."

Theo sat down in front of the Devil, plopping his butt right into the snow on the ground, and folded his legs. He no longer felt any cold or wetness penetrating his jeans. Was he doing something about that, or was Someone else? Now this was interesting. "So how do you know," he asked, rather pointedly, "that your son still didn't stop Armageddon because that was exactly what God had intended all along?"

"Because I know that God, and I know that he wanted a war."

"How so?"

Lucifer grinned a terrible grin. "He's a cruel, bloodthirsty, terrible deity. I've seen him heartlessly punish the mistaken and the misguided; I've seen him condemn without giving any second chances; I've felt his delight at all the wars and all the bloodshed and all the blood that has been spilt in his name. I've seen the Hand of God do things that I would be proud to have seen any of my demons do; I've seen His wretched, simpering angels commit acts of unspeakable cruelty and injustice, all for the sake of His word. I ask you this, boy," said the Devil, as he leaned down toward Theo, "has that angel of yours ever taught you how to give a real good, old-fashioned smiting yet? The type with crashing thunder and striking lightning bolts and fire and brimstone raining down from the sky?"

"Er, no." Theo scratched absent-mindedly at his nose. "Actually, he seems to be quite down on the whole smiting business."

"Really?" Lucifer frowned at that. "Crowley always said in his reports that the angel was rather trigger-happy with his lightning bolts."

"Oh, yes, well, he is," Theo said hurriedly, realizing that that would be something Crowley would have to keep continually lying to his superiors about. "But, er, he doesn't like to actually use any fire or lightning, unless, um, he can outright catch any demon in the act of doing something, you know, bad. He told me that Crowley's usually clever and sneaky enough that he can never catch him with his hands red. And he doesn't like to ever smite without first seeing proof that it's deserved. Innocent until proven guilty, and all that. We angels are big believers in that."

"I suppose you would be." Lucifer seemed convinced by that; Theo heaved an inward sigh of relief. "Still, I know what I know," Lucifer continued. "Holiness and self-righteousness are just wickedness and cruelty, one step removed; your God is wicked and cruel, and he wanted there to be a great war between us. My son stopped it all from happening. After all these thousands of years, my son was finally the one who successfully rebelled against God."

"So. You want to tell him that you're proud of him because of that."

"Exactly. Among other things."

Theo stood up then, brushed the snow off his dry jeans, and gave the Devil a long, hard look.

"What?" Abbadon, also known as the Adversary, the Angel of the Bottomless Pit, the Father of Lies, the Great Red Dragon, the Tempter, and the Wicked One, blinked at Theo blankly.

"It's just... I dunno. You look so sincere."

"I am sincere," Lucifer said in a voice smaller and quieter than any Theo had ever heard him use before.

They both stared at each other for a moment, and silence spun between them. The snowy woods whispered and breathed around them.

_It's just because of my miracle,_ Theo tried to tell himself.

And then, _But what if all your mutant miracle really does to people is dig out and amplify things that are already there?_

That was what Theo had feared, and secretly suspected, all along.

Finally, Theo shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts, and said, "We should go this way." He started off.

The Devil quickly followed him. "This way? But I thought--"

"Trust me," Theo said, "this way." Something was prickling in the back of his neck, and he knew exactly what it was.

* * *

Five minutes later, Theo and the Devil rounded the top of a snowy ridge, looked down into a clearing in the woods, and saw the boy and his dog. The boy was studiously building a rather deformed-looking snowman, and his small, ratty dog was sitting off to one side of the clearing, panting, and watching the boy attentively. The boy paused, and turned his head, gazing up at them, most of his face obscured by a high scarf and a low hat pulled down over his unruly blonde hair.

His eyes swept over Theo, and Theo shivered. The boy knew exactly who they were, and what they were doing in the woods.

The dog sniffed the air, glanced up at Lucifer, and barked a cheerful, high-pitched greeting, his tail beginning to wriggle wildly. The dog then stood up, and began dancing in place, raising its paws up and down excitedly.

"Hullo," said the boy. He was speaking directly to Lucifer, who was standing frozen on top of the ridge, an expression of utter disbelief on his face. And then, "Didn't expect t'see you out here."

Lucifer's mouth open and closed, as if he were struggling to say something, but no words could escape his throat. Then he paused, swallowed, licked his lips, and managed to croak out, "Uh, hi... Is that your dog?"

"Yeah, ain't he great?" Even from behind the scarf, Adam's proud grin blazed with a bright light all its own, even within the gloomy, cold, overcast woods.

"You, ah... You like him like that?"

"He's Dog. That's the way he is." Adam was giving the Devil a curious look, as if he had expected the Abbadon, also known as the Adversary, the Angel of the Bottomless Pit, the Father of Lies, the Great Red Dragon, the Tempter, and the Wicked One, to be less thick.

Lucifer blushed shyly and said, "He was your birthday present, you know. I picked him out myself. Best pup in the litter."

"I knew." Adam brushed the snow off his gloves. "Why've you got an angel with you?"

"He's my hostage."

"Ah," said Adam, as if this explained everything. For him, it probably did.

Now if was Theo's turn to blush, and he was becoming more and more aware of how much of a third wheel he was, an outside intruder into this admittedly bizarre yet extremely intimate little tableau. Still, he knew that he yet had a role to play. He nudged the Devil with his elbow, very carefully, and stage-whispered, "Isn't there something you were going to tell him?"

"Um..." Lucifer took a few stumbling steps forward, down the slope of the ridge, into the clearing. "Um, I don't suppose... You'd let your old man give you a hug now, would you?"

"Greasy Johnson used t'say that only nancy boys and queers hugged their dads."

"Well, Greasy Johnson is a prat, and I can personally see to it that he burns in Hell for an eternity if he ever dares to call you a nancy boy or a queer."

"Swear?"

"I swear."

"That's all right, then." Adam didn't move or say anything more, but a moment later, Lucifer stepped forward, sank down to his knees, and wrapped his arms around his son, squeezing tightly.

Theo averted his eyes, turned away from them both, and stepped down the opposite side of the ridge. He sat down in the snow again, his back still turned to them, but his ears straining to hear what would happen next, not wanting to spy on them outright, but helplessly eavesdropping in anyway.

"He didn't want the war," Adam finally said, and his voice suddenly sounded decades older and wiser than it had just a moment before.

His father pulled his head away from where it had been resting on Adam's shoulder, and blinked at him. "What?"

"God never wanted there t'be a war," Adam said, picking up the conversation that Theo and the Devil had had in the woods just as smoothly and fluidly as if he had heard the whole thing himself. Maybe he had. "You all chose t'have a war. But He couldn't intervene and stop it. And He never predicted that anyone would stop it - or that the one t'stop it would be me." He reached up, with one red-mittened hand, and touched the Devil on his hot, pale cheek. "All's He's doin' is watching us now. Just watching and waiting. To see what'll happen next."

Lucifer stared at him for a moment, then squeezed his arms tight and pulled Adam deep into another hug. "Still," he whispered into his son's ear, "Even if I was wrong about all of that, still, I'm very proud of you."

"You're not mad at me, then?"

"Right now, I can't be."

"That's not very comforting." And then, "You're squeezing."

"Sorry." Lucifer loosened his arms.

Adam gazed solemnly up at him. "You're doin' it like you've never been hugged before."

"I haven't."

"Aw. That's awful. No wonder you're so bad all the time." Adam wrapped his own arms briefly around the Devil's chest. "That better?"

"Much." Lucifer's voice dropped to a breathy whisper. "Thank you." Then he pulled away from Adam's embrace, stood up, and stepped back. "Er, and one more thing."

He rummaged around the pockets of his coat for a moment, frowned, muttered to himself, then snapped his fingers, as if suddenly remembering something. "Ah, yes - that's where I stuck them!" He snapped the fingers of his left hand again, and then his right hand was suddenly clutching a pair of long, black, sinister-looking candles. He handed them to Adam. "If you ever need anything," he said, "You know, if you ever want to talk to your old man, or get some fatherly advice, or if you ever, ahem, have enemies that you need someone to smite... Just light these candles, draw a pentagram, say my name three times, and sacrifice a bat. I'll be right there. If it's an emergency, sacrifice a goat."

Adam took the candles in his mittened hands, and looked at them rather dubiously. "Huh. Seems like an awful lot of work to me. Don't see why any ol' bats have to be sacrificed, either. Don't you have a phone or beeper or somethin'?"

"...No."

"You should get one. All the important people carry beepers, like on TV."

"I'll ask Pauline to look into that for me." Lucifer grinned, and then reached out and patted Adam on the shoulder. "The other thing you need, son, is to get yourself a good, solid pitchfork. I'd hand mine down to you, but..." Lucifer shrugged. "No matter. You deserve a new one, anyway."

"What would I do with a pitchfork?" Adam had never even seen or heard of a pitchfork before; he had a vague idea that it was something his mother would use as a cooking utensil.

"Why, you can poke people with it, of course. If they don't do what you want them to do, you can poke them with your pitchfork."

"Seems like an awful lousy why to get people to listen to you, if y'ask me."

"Hmm." A ghost of a frown flitted across Lucifer's face. "You really did turn out funny, didn't you?"

"...Funny?"

"That is, not what I expected. Not what anybody expected." He stepped back, and began to turn. "Well, I, uh, I best be going now... Still've got this crisis to deal with, and all..."

Adam waved at him (although he had to set the candles down on the snowy ground to do so). "See ya 'round, then?"

"Er, no. Probably not." A wan smile. "It'll be for the better. Trust me."

* * *

The Devil climbed back over the ridge, passed Theo, and kept walking on. Theo stood up hurriedly, brushed the snow off his bum, and caught up with Lucifer as quickly as he could.

"Well," said Theo cautiously, "that went well, didn't it?"

Lucifer stopped in mid-stride, and turned to face Theo.

"Thank you," he said, his face unreadable. "There's no use in either of us pretending that you didn't arrange that whole thing; so I might as well thank you now, in case I decide to kill you for it later."

Theo gulped.

But then Lucifer shot him a weak smile and said, "You know, I really mean it. Thank you. It's a miracle that I got to see him at all; it's a miracle that I was able to say all those things to him."

"S'not a miracle," Theo mumbled, embarrassed. He'd just done what anybody else would have done. Theo had seen something in the Devil's eyes, and heard something in the Devil's voice, that had betrayed his feelings even more than his candid words had done. Lucifer had just wanted to see his son, just for once, in a way that would allow him to act like a real father, if only for a moment. Theo had seen instantly how much that would have meant to him...

Theo hadn't been about to deny Adam that, Antichrist or not.

Theo missed his own father.

Lucifer had turned his back to Theo and was walking again; Theo hurried to catch up. His boot crunched through the snow, and he watched his breath puff out in misty clouds in front of his face. For somebody who was technically dead, he thought grimly, he sure was breathing heavily, and his heart was beginning to pound. He was cold, and sore, and it was difficult to keep up with Lucifer's quick, purposeful striding.

Suddenly, again, Lucifer stopped in his tracks. Theo had the distinct impression that one of his ears was perking up, as much as a mostly human-shaped ear could perk. "Hey... Do you hear that?"

Theo wasn't hearing anything at the moment - he was suddenly too distracted by an inexplicable itching all across his back. "Urgh," he groaned, reaching around to his back and trying in vain to scratch himself through his thick winter coat. It felt as if the skin between his shoulder blades was positively crawling. Theo's brain was seized by a sudden mental image of tiny, biting bugs crawling up and down across his flesh, and he shuddered violently. The itching! Where in the world had it come from?! It was unbearable, it was--

"It's like a funny swishing sound," the Devil was saying, cocking his head, listening to the woods, "like something sliding across the snow..."

Then they heard the unmistakable sound of a woman screaming.

* * *

Continued. 


	16. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended up somehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!

* * *

Ordinary Miracles

by Nenena

* * *

Chapter 15

Hoagland, Edward. 1970. The Courage of Turtles: Fifteen Essays about Compassion, Pain, and Love. Random House, New York. PS3558.O334 A16

* * *

Theo froze in his tracks, and a chill shiver slithered up and down his spine. Then he heard some more shouting, and the sound of something gigantic crashing through the woods--

The Devil suddenly grabbed Theo's hand and yanked him forward, and then they were rushing through the woods, crashing through the snow and any low-lying brush that dared to try to tangle their feet or to slow them down. "Come on," Lucifer was panting, "Come on! Faster, you idiot boy!! It must be straight ahead of us!"

They suddenly burst through the trees and onto the edge of a small clearing, and Lucifer ground to a halt, as Theo nearly ran straight into him. Theo managed to stop himself, stumbled, regained his balance, glanced up, and saw that Lucifer was staring, momentarily transfixed and horrified, at something on the far side of the clearing. Theo followed Lucifer's line of sight, and then felt his heart suddenly leap into his throat.

Crowley and Pauline were crouching precariously on a branch high up in a tree on the opposite side of the clearing, clutching each other for balance. Pauline's left leg was slimed up to her knee; a tattered bit of broken equation was wrapped around her ankle. Like a dog sniffing a treed cat, the enormous blob of a miracle was wrapping itself around the base of the tree, extending pseudopods up as high as it could, seeking, searching for its prey. Theo could see the remains of what must have been Pauline's briefcase dissolving near one edge of the blob. Bits of leather and yellow teeth and what looked like a fleshy lip floated in the glittering mass.

"You're sure it can't climb trees?!" Pauline was asking Crowley frantically.

"Pretty sure, I mean, it doesn't have any legs or anything like... Uh... "

He trailed off because Pauline's eyes were bugging out of her head as she stared down, watching the blob beginning to squeeze itself tighter around the trunk and inch itself up the length of the tree, using its tangled strings of central equations as ropes to grip and hoist itself.

Lucifer stared at this site for exactly half a second, before he began shouting. "You two!" he barked, gesturing furiously to get the demons' attention. Unfortunately, just as Theo had feared, the miracle seemed to pause and suddenly notice the both of them, too. "GET AWAY FROM THAT TREE!" Lucifer was shouting at them, while they stared at him, stupid and panicked. "YOU HAVE WINGS, YOU CAN FLY, USE YOUR WINGS, GET THE HEAVEN AWAY FROM THERE!"

That seemed to shake the both of them out of their stupor. "Come on," Crowley said quickly, grasping Pauline's hand and carefully pulling her into a more-or-less standing position, as two pairs of feathery black wings unfolded behind them.

"We can't lift off here," Pauline was moaning, "we'll fall right into it!"

But that was already a moot point. The miracle had abandoned the trunk of the tree, and the treed demons that it had trapped. It was currently rushing toward the Devil and the generally more interesting (and more close to the ground) prey in that direction.

"Hold on," Lucifer said, sounding for a horrifying moment uncannily like Aziraphale had in the diner they had escaped earlier. Theo felt enormous arms closing around him, felt his feet being lifted off the ground, felt the rush of wind against his back as graceful black wings unfurled and beat against the ground, sending them both airborne.

The ground rushed away from them. Theo held back a frightened scream as he felt himself soar up, then down, sideways, roll into a stomach-twisting spin, and then fly off and up again, all the while clutching to Lucifer's black L.L. Bean coat, holding on for dear life, for once actually relieved to feel the Devil's grip tightening around his midsection. "That's right!" Lucifer was screaming at the ground beneath them, where the shimmering blob was rushing along, clumsily dodging trees and brush as it sped along below them. "That's right, this way, follow me! Follow me this way! THIS WAY!!"

Lucifer suddenly swooped low, the tips of his wings brushing against the treetops. "See this?!" he screamed, giving Theo a rough shake. "You want this one, don't you, DON'T YOU?!"

"Don't!" Theo gasped, clutching the Devil tighter. He risked a glance downward, and could see the thick cords of equations in the center of the miracle twisting and writhing around each other more frantically than they ever had before; the blob was clearly enraged.

Suddenly, the treetops ended, and they burst over the top of a wide clearing. In the center of the clearing stood an angel, with a military-issue semi-automatic rifle slung over his shoulder and a very business-like expression on his face.

The angel smiled grimly as the miracle burst through the brush right in front of him. It was going far too fast to stop itself. "Say g'night, then," Theo distinctly heard Aziraphale say, before he open-fired.

The roar of the semi-automatic weapon was deafening. Theo caught one glimpse of the blob rearing up toward the sky even as the ropy, tangled mess of central equations in its core seemed to be shredding themselves and then exploding outward in all directions. Then the thing began to steam and hiss, and as bullets streamed through its body and more of its central equations were torn to shreds, its glittering, jelly-like mass began to sizzle and evaporate in puffs of glittery, sweet-smelling steam. Theo heard a low roar vibrating through his skull, a low roar that slowly and painfully grew in pitch and volume until it sounded like the most angry, haunting, other-worldly keening Theo had ever heard--

Lucifer swooped back around the top of Aziraphale's clearing, still clutching Theo tightly to his body, and managed to wrap one hand around Theo's ears. "That's its death-scream," he said, "and you don't want to be listening to it."

The vibrating cry within Theo's skull ceased, and Theo actually managed to breath a sigh of relief.

The Colt suddenly ceased firing, and for a moment, the absence of machine-gun report was so deafening, that it seemed to Theo that the clearing had actually fallen silent. But then he realized that the wind was still rushing by his head and whistling softly, lowly, as the Devil still circled the air above the clearing below. Theo looked down and could see the miracle hissing and oozing and bubbling and shrinking back into itself, growing smaller and smaller by the minute. Aziraphale craned his head to look up at them both, patted the Colt satisfactorily as he hefted it against its shoulder strap, smirked triumphantly, and even raised his hand and gave them a thumbs-up sign.

Theo twisted his head around - Lucifer was no longer holding his hand over his ears - and tried to get a better look at the miracle's death throes. Then he glanced over at the angel and saw something in Aziraphale's face change. The angel was still staring up at them both, but his smile was fading, and all of a sudden, a dark shadow seemed to cross over his face. Theo saw Aziraphale raise his eyebrows, his eyes shining with a sudden, strange fear. The angel opened his mouth to shout something up at them--

"Hold on," Lucifer suddenly told Theo, and Theo clutched at him tightly. Lucifer dove, spiraling down toward the ground, and when Theo realized that they weren't going to pull up, he opened his mouth, and he screamed.

He screamed all the way down, through the ground, through the snow and the frozen dirt beneath, feeling himself passing through layers and layers of scathingly cold sediment, feeling a hot wind beginning to rush up past his ears, feeling his throat beginning to burn--

Lucifer's black wings propelled them relentlessly down through the ground. He tightened his grip around Theo, and Theo could feel his hands growing larger, his claws beginning to tear through his coat and clothes and dig painfully into his flesh. "No, no, no, no, no!" Theo cried futilely, as it began to dawn on him what was happening. But then Lucifer leaned in close and whispered in a voice that burned Theo's ear, "Oh, yes. There's no way that I can let you get away with this, not after what you did to me, not after what you did to my demons, to my kingdom. You're going to pay for this, little boy. You're going to pay for an eternity."

Theo choked back a sob. Aziraphale had been successful, then; the miracle was dead, its changes had all been undone, and the Devil was back to his normal self.

* * *

They burst through the bedrock and into a bright, sunny place.

"AW, BLESS IT!" Lucifer roared as blue sky spun above them and a colorful field of flowers spread below them. They spun through the air, and Theo distinctly caught a glimpse of hopping bunnies among the flowers below. Very, very cute, bunnies, hopping along happily, although not quite so happily that it was not obvious that they were trying in a very cute, happy way to get as far away from the black-winged shadow in the sky, as quickly as they cutely, happily could.

Lucifer landed, sweeping his wings gracefully behind him as he set his feet down in the soft grass, pushing Theo out of his arms and down onto the ground with a disgusted shove. Theo fell to his knees, inhaling the scent of flowers and spring dew, and quickly scrambled back into a standing position, thinking for one glorious, hopeful moment that he might actually be able to run away, as long as Lucifer had let him slip out of his grasp for just a split second-- But then Theo glanced up, saw the fire burning in the Devil's eyes, and felt his heart sink down into his stomach. It was hopeless.

The Devil was glancing around the open field, furiously. "BLESS IT!" he roared again, a blast of infernal heat and the stench of burning brimstone exploding from his mouth. Then he clenched his fists, and seemed to calm down for a moment. He glared at Theo, hatefully. "This is your fault," he hissed, snakelike. "It's going to take an eternity to tear down all of the redecorating that's been done to this place!"

"This place...?"

"This is SUPPOSED to be the Five Hundred and Twenty-Ninth Circle!"

Theo managed to smile weakly. "Surely it won't be an eternity to change around all this redecorating, will it? I mean, your demons must have managed all of this in less than forty-eight hours--"

"EVERY MOMENT THAT I HAVE TO SPEND IN THE PRESENCE OF SUNSHINE AND DEWDROPS AND FLUFFY ANIMALS IS AN ETERNITY!!!!"

Theo could smell his own hair singing after the Devil finished roaring into his face. "Point taken," he said, meekly.

"Come on," the Devil snarled, reaching out with his swollen, red,

clawed hand and grasping Theo's arm painfully, yanking him forward. "The only way to go from here is down."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Theo pleaded, trying to dig his heels into the soft earth, although that only made the force of the Devil pulling along on his arm that much more painful. "We had a deal! Pauline and you made a deal with me! You said that if we could destroy the miracle in time, and set everything back to normal, then you would--"

"Did I say something like that?" the Devil asked, rhetorically, leering at Theo, showing off his multiple rows of sharp, sharp teeth. "Well, guess what? I lied."

"But you PROMISED!"

"I can break my promises. That's why I'm the Devil."

"But that's not FAIR!" Theo protested, an edge of panic creeping into his voice. "You can't just bring me down here! I'm an ANGEL! I - I - I haven't even been Damned yet!"

"Trust me, you're Damned now."

"That's not FAIR!" Theo wailed again.

"Not fair, you say?!" The Devil swung Theo roughly around until he was facing him in front, and then reached out of his other hand to grasp Theo's other arm, holding him now completely immobile. "NOT FAIR?!" the Devil roared with his fiery breath, into Theo's face. "NOBODY WHO ENDS UP DOWN HERE EVER THINKS IT'S FAIR! But if you ask me, it's more than a fitting punishment for YOU."

"But I haven't sinned," Theo whimpered.

The Devil smiled then, slowly, stretching and pulling back his lips to reveal his teeth again, only this time, he seemed to have dozens more of them than he had just a moment ago. "You created a monster, and then, you unleashed it upon us," he said, smiling more widely than Theo knew it was possible for a human being to smile. His grin was literally stretching from ear to ear. "Is that fair, I ask you? Is that not a sin? Do you think that I can just walk away from an infernal creature like you without exacting my proper revenge? And, most importantly..." His eyes glittered and twinkled, orange and gold flames dancing behind his clear, blank, unlined irises. "Do you think that I can let Heaven keep their hands on a weapon as powerful as you?"

"It was an accident," Theo whispered, his voice trembling.

"A powerfully stupid weapon, then." He let go of one of Theo's arms and raised his clawed hand to Theo's face, gently, tenderly pushing a lock of Theo's hair away from his pale, sweaty forehead. Theo shuddered with revulsion as Lucifer raked the tip of claw ever so lightly across his cheek. "Oh, my dear little boy," Lucifer sighed, his breath escaping as a great rush of superheated air, "You and I are going to have so much fun, so much fun together. You know what's funny? None of my demons are very happy about what your miracle did to any of them, either. I'm thinking I might round up several dozen of my best torturers from the lower circles, and throw you to them - give them free reign to play with you for a few centuries or so. Your screams will be a fair, soothing music to all of us who go to work every day down there. And then..." The tip of one of his claws traced a line across the top of Theo's scalp, following the part of his hair. "And then we'll cut your head open, scoop out that clever little brain of yours, cut it up, slide it under a microscope, and see if we can see what makes such a fantastically talented coder like you tick. Of course," the Devil shrugged, a false note of regret in his voice, "since you technically can't ever be any more dead than you are now, you'll be alive - and aware - of every sight, every sound, every touch, every taste, every sensation that any part of your body will ever experience, from here until the end of an eternity. Even if I cut you up into six hundred and sixty-six pieces, and scattered each piece throughout the Circles, and let my demons have a run with each little piece of you, you'd still feel everything. EVERYTHING. You'd feel everything that happens to each miniscule particle of your sweet, young flesh. And naturally, even if we do cut you up, we'll have to be extra careful," he said, still grinning, "to make sure to keep this ingeniously-designed throat and mouth of yours whole. For the screaming, you understand. We connoisseurs of the Damned highly value the sound of genuine screaming."

"Please don't," Theo whispered again, his lower lip trembling dangerously, unable to hold back the tears spilling down from his eyes anymore. "Please don't do this, please, it was an accident, I never meant to, I didn't--"

"Oh, my." The Devil shook his head at Theo and "tsked" low in his throat. "I sense that you're ashamed to be crying in front of me. Very well then," he said, suddenly brightly. "I'll show you what a nice guy I really am, and I can help you out with that one, all right? Just hold still, and I'll claw your eyes out for you, and tear up your tear ducts until they won't work anymore." He raised his free hand in front of Theo's face, stretched out his fingers, and held his hand floating there, lazily, the bright sunshine of the Five Hundred and Twenty-Ninth Circle gleaming menacingly on the sharp edges of his dark, black claws. "No more crying, no more shame, not now, not ever. Just screaming. We'll both like it much better that way, won't we? Now hold still."

The Devil's hand shot forward.

Theo squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath, waiting for the inevitable.

It would have been over in less than a second, had not the Devil's hand suddenly frozen, the sharp tips of his claws no more than three millimeters away from Theo's eyelids.

Theo heard the Devil suck in his breath quickly. Then Theo dared to open his eyes, and found himself staring up at a tall, shadowy figure standing behind Lucifer, holding the tip of a Colt M4 Carbine's barrel to the back of the Devil's head.

"That's quite enough," Aziraphale said sternly.

The Devil lowered his hand away from Theo's face and twisted his head around to face the angel, disbelieving. "That thing can't hurt me down here," he said, shooting a contemptuous glance down into the barrel of the Colt.

"How much would you be willing to bet on that?" Aziraphale asked darkly.

"Human weapons cannot harm me. Nothing merely four-dimensional can harm me. Especially not down here." He grinned at Aziraphale, showing off his sharp shark's teeth. "What sort of an idiot angel are you, to challenge the Adversary himself here, on his own home turf?"

Instead of answering the Devil's question, Aziraphale calmly posed one of his own. "What makes you think that this weapon is only four-dimensional?"

Lucifer scoffed. "It's a human gun. You got it from a human. I saw it."

"It was a human weapon. It's my weapon now. And I have been tinkering with it."

Lucifer narrowed his eyes. "You're bluffing."

"I most certainly am not. I do consider myself, not without justification, to be quite the firearms expert, amateur hobbyist though I might be. And I will tell you, sir Morningstar, that I know quite enough about human weapons to be able to add extra dimensional aspects to them, when they suit my purpose."

Lucifer's eyes narrowed even further. The one hand that he had still holding onto Theo's arm with tightened its grip, sinking its claws deep into Theo's coat and cutting into his flesh, drawing blood. Theo winced, but would not cry out. The Devil was standing very awkwardly now, between Theo and Aziraphale; most of his front was facing Theo, but his head had twisted around on his neck in an impossible way so that his face was facing Aziraphale, and Theo could only see the back of his head. "When," Lucifer asked Aziraphale, his voice low and dangerous, "has it ever suited your purposes before?"

Aziraphale grinned humorlessly at him. "There's a first time for everything." He hefted the Colt comfortably in his arms. "I've never actually shot at a demon before. The Good Lord knows that Crowley has certainly tempted me many times, whether he realized that he has or not. But now, I couldn't think of a better time, or a better place, to try this little experiment of mine out. Can the bullets from this human-made weapon truly pierce the flesh of the Adversary himself - the real flesh of the Devil, that is? I have utmost confidence that they can. The question is, how much are you willing to risk that they can't?" Aziraphale squinted, taking aim. "Is that boy really worth the risk?"

"I'm not giving up the boy."

"But that's all that I'm asking for. Let go of the boy, or I'll shoot."

"No," Lucifer growled. "You drop your gun, or I'll wrench the boy's head off."

"Ah. Afraid of this thing now, are you?"

_No,_ Theo begged Aziraphale silently,_ No, please, stop, you idiot angel, please don't taunt him!_

But now the Devil was grinning again. "You can't shoot me here. You'll hit the boy." He suddenly wrenched Theo around to his back, and then turned his body below the neck so that his front was aligned with his face again. He held Theo in front of him, his fiery eyes blazing with triumph. "You can't shoot me now. You can't shoot me now!"

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment, and then the Devil laughed. "Ha, ha, ha, you useless, shortsighted angel! I win! I WIN! I'll stroll all the way down to the Bottom holding this boy close to me and YOU won't be able to do a single thing about it!" He sneered at the angel. "Go back Up where you came from and tell your superiors what a lousy teacher you are. Tell them honestly how you lost your apprentice; I'm sure they'll appreciate the subsequent excuse they'll have to rid themselves of you." He began backing away, pulling Theo along with him. Theo stared down at the grass, afraid to meet his angel's eyes.

But suddenly they both heard Aziraphale call out, "Wait!"

The Devil paused, a bemused grin on his face. "Oh, what could it be now?" he wondered aloud, mockingly.

"You really think that you have won?" the angel asked, coldly.

"Considering this ending? You call this a victory?"

The Devil stepped back toward Aziraphale, wrenching Theo out in front of him. "Are you daft? I couldn't be happier!"

"And that's your only prize?" Aziraphale gestured dismissively at Theo. "Your only prize to show, for all of this?" He swept his rifle around in an arc, indicating the blue sky, the bright glowing sun, the green grass, the colorful flowers swaying gently in an inexplicable spring breeze. "That's a little disappointing, don't you think? I mean, Theo isn't even a genuine angel. He hasn't even earned his wings yet. He's weak, powerless, incompetent, and not exactly someone that Heaven would be too terribly upset about losing."

Theo felt his cheeks beginning to flush with, as unbelievable as it was, anger. He stared at the grass and at his feet, though, refusing to meet Aziraphale's eyes.

Aziraphale continued coolly. "You realize, of course, what this is going to look like, when you rush back down to that Bottom of yours and show everyone else how courageously, how triumphantly, you overpowered a helpless whelp of a would-be angel and brought him back down to be your sniveling plaything for all eternity. Heaven will be glad to have him gone, and I can assure you that Hell will be most unimpressed--"

"But I AM Hell!"

Aziraphale raised one eyebrow at him. "But won't they still laugh at you for this? Your other demons, I mean. Your entire kingdom was invaded, violated, and destroyed. And Theo is all that you have to show for it, in the end? A paltry revenge, indeed."

"I know what you're trying to do," Lucifer growled, "and it's not going to work. I'm not giving up the boy. Sniveling, helpless whelp though he may be, anything is better than going back Down there to face all of them empty-handed!"

"I'm not asking you to face them empty-handed." Slowly, with great dignity, Aziraphale unstrapped his rifle and lowered it to the ground, setting it down on the soft grass. He straightened up, and purposefully stepped away from it, keeping it out of his reach. "I'm offering you a bargain. That's what you demon lot are supposed to be good at, right? So let's make a deal. You give up the boy, but I give you something better in exchange."

Theo felt his breath catch in his throat. _No_, he thought, dully. _Oh, no!_

But the Devil was smiling again, and although he already knew what the answer would be, he asked the taunting question anyway: "What, pray tell, do you have that you could offer to me?"

Aziraphale raised his hands to his chest. "Me."

"You," the Devil scoffed, but there was an unmistakable note of sudden greed in his voice.

"I'll do it," Aziraphale said. "I'll really do it, I'll Fall, I'll

go with you willingly. After I see that Theo is returned safely to the Surface."

"And how do I know that you'll keep your word on that?"

"Because, unlike you," Aziraphale said darkly, "we angels have to keep our promises."

"And why, pray tell, would I be at all interested in accepting your offer?"

"You want revenge, don't you?" Aziraphale snapped, impatiently. "Well, fine! Take revenge on me. This whole ordeal was my fault in the first place. I failed to teach Theo proper coding and proper safety procedures to observe while executing a miracle; everything that came after is a direct result of my negligence."

Theo was still staring resolutely at his feet as Aziraphale's words rang into his ears, his cheeks burning red. _He's only saying exactly what you were thinking to yourself, not less than a day ago_, a nasty little voice in his head was telling him. _So why, then, does it sound like every word coming out of his mouth is some sort of lie?_

The Devil had considerably loosened his grip on Theo's arm by now, and was smiling brightly at Aziraphale, his flaming eyes shining. "I don't know," the Devil drawled out slowly, "that still doesn't seem like much of a bargain to me."

"Well," tried Aziraphale, somewhat angrily, fully realizing that the Devil was just baiting him, but that he was helpless to do anything but play along, "think of it this way. I know that you make it your business Down Here to eternally damn as many souls as you can; and that you people DO attach different values to the different types of souls that you can drag down. An angel is surely worth more than a mere human; and an angel who's been around the block for several millenniums is surely worth more than one who hasn't."

The Devil was nodding, thoughtfully. "Mmm-hmm. Mmm-hmm. Most impressive. You seem to understand our system already; I can see that you'll have quite a successful career in this business." And then, unbelievably, he actually thrust Theo aside and stepped forward, toward Aziraphale, then stopped and stood right in front of the angel. "The former angel of the Eastern Gate... I've heard about you. I've been hearing about you since the Beginning. You've caused a lot of trouble for us all, over the years, haven't you? There are plenty of demons Down Here, not least of all myself and Crowley, who would be quite pleased to see you suffering for an eternity, Fallen and cast out of Heaven, consigned to labor as my servant until the end of your days."

Theo stumbled for a few steps before he caught his footing again. He was flushed and sweating all over his body, and in a sort of panic, he realized that he was still wearing his heavy winter coat, but that now he had actually been transported to a bright, warm, sunny place. He unzipped and wrenched off his coat, throwing it to the ground, as he turned and watched the two of them, Devil and angel, as they stood facing each other. Even without his coat, Theo still felt hot and stifled, as if he couldn't breath. His heart was thumping in his chest._ I'm not seeing this, _he thought, numbly, _I'm not seeing this!_

The Devil was no longer wearing his L.L. Bean coat - it had vanished as if it had never been there at all. He reached out, grasped Aziraphale's chin in his hand, and turned the angel's head from side to side, gazing at it appreciatively, as if he were appraising the value of a rare and beautiful diamond. Aziraphale made no sound of protest, and the expression on his face remained stony, set, determined.

"Your wings," the Devil said, dropping his hand away from Aziraphale. "Let me see your wings."

Aziraphale silently began to remove his coat, then hesitated, one arm still in its sleeve. "The other part of the deal," he said firmly, "will be that you must not cut off my wings until Theo is gone."

"Don't want him to see you change, do you?" the Devil leered at him. Then he laughed and said, "Sorry, but I haven't agreed to any deal yet, have I? I have to inspect every bit of the chicken before I agree to pay market price. You understand, of course."

"Of course," Aziraphale said dully. He finished removing his coat, took off his sweater, unbuttoned his shirt, removed that, and finally slipped off his vest. He stood there, naked from the waist up, a short, slightly pudgy, obviously aging man, with curled blonde hair and unsettlingly clear blue eyes that now seemed grayed and dulled by the weight of a great, crushing sadness. Still, he held his back straight and his chin high, managing somehow to maintain his dignity, and did not so much as even wince when his wings suddenly unfurled behind him, and one of them was clearly bent and twisted in a way that surely must have been very painful.

The Devil ran one finger along part of the edge of Aziraphale's undamaged wing. "Very poor quality, these," he commented. "Ungroomed, messy, molting, and the one is obviously broken in some way."

"It doesn't matter," Aziraphale said through gritted teeth. "You'll have to cut them off anyway, won't you?"

"Yes, and then we'll get you a set of nice new black ones. Still, we're also going to have to teach you some lessons about the proper care and grooming of your new wings. I don't want to see any of my demons ever running around in a state like this."

"Fine, fine," Aziraphale hissed, growing increasingly impatient with the Devil's obvious mocking of him. "Are we agreed, then? Will you let Theo go now?"

"NO!" Theo screamed, and they both turned to look at him, startled, as if they had both forgotten that he had still actually been standing there. Theo fixed his feverish, accusatory gaze on Aziraphale. "I won't go! YOU CAN'T DO THIS! I won't let you do this!"

Aziraphale gave Theo a patient, understanding look, as if he had been expecting this. "Don't worry about me, Theo," he said somberly, "I'll be fine."

"That's a lie, and you know it!"

The Devil tapped his lower lip with one clawed finger, thoughtfully, and then turned back to Aziraphale, commenting casually, "Ungrateful little brat, isn't he?" Then back at Theo: "Your angel is making a great sacrifice in order to provide you with an opportunity to escape. I'd accept his offer, if I were you. The next time that I lay eyes upon you, I can guarantee you that you will not be so lucky."

"So we're agreed, then?" Aziraphale repeated. He held out his hand to the Devil. "Let's shake on it. Like gentlemen."

"Of course." Still grinning his terrible, shark-like grin, Lucifer raised his hand toward the angel's.

Before Theo could even stop to think about what he was doing, he found himself leaping forward, his heart jumping into his throat. He had to stop that handshake - his thoughts were consumed with the fact that he had to stop that handshake - if they shook hands, he knew, the pact would be sealed, and then it would be all over. "DON'T!!" he screamed, his voice cracking, and he ran straight into the Devil's outstretched arm, throwing himself against it, knocking it away from Aziraphale's hand, and clinging to it tightly.

Aziraphale froze with his hand in the air, staring, horrified. The Devil roared with rage and flung his arm about, but Theo clung to it, wrapping his arms around it, squeezing as tightly as he could.

Which was a very stupid thing to do, Theo realized, a split second later, because the Devil still had one arm free, and Theo was now in very close proximity to that arm, and that arm was topped off by a hand sporting five fingers tipped by five sharp, long claws. The Devil's free arm swung down toward Theo--

"You said you wouldn't harm him!" Aziraphale cried out, and Theo barely felt a rush of thirteen-dimensional equations speeding past his ear before the Devil's arm suddenly froze in mid-swing, inches from Theo's face and neck. The arm seemed to grow and bulge outward, for a horrible split second, and then burst, the lower arm and hand and fingers erupting into a spray of black, gooey substance. The Devil roared again, swinging his maimed stump of a forearm wildly, flames erupting from his eyes. But this time, his roar of rage was barely concealing the screams of pain beneath it. There was black, gooey blood, and bits of red flesh and white bone and black claw, splattered all over the Devil's front, and all over Theo as well. There was goo and a sharp bit of claw stuck in Theo's hair, and something warm and wet and chunky splattered across one of his cheeks. The Devil roared again and this time his rage seemed to cause his entire body to heat up; his arm was suddenly so searingly hot that it was impossible to hold onto any longer. Theo screamed and let go of the Devil's arm, falling away from him, gasping for breath and shuddering, feeling his cheeks and fingers and the skin on one of his arms beginning to blister. "YOU BASTARD!" the Devil screamed as Aziraphale, fire shooting out of his mouth, as Aziraphale lunged forward, grabbed Theo's arm, and began pulling Theo back away from him. "NO MIRACLES!" the Devil screamed at them, "THERE ARE NO MIRACLES ALLOWED DOWN HERE! NOBODY USES MIRACLES AGAINST ME!! THE DEAL'S OFF, YOU HEAR ME?! THE DEAL'S OFF!!!" He danced and screamed with rage, waving his bloody stump of an arm wildly, and Theo saw with a thrill of horror that the Devil's maimed arm was already stretching out again, growing, extending, healing itself, and the bud of what would become his new hand was already forming at its tip--

One again, Theo found himself being held in Aziraphale's arms, pressed against Aziraphale's bare chest, as the angel flapped his wings madly and twisted around, facing away from the Devil, lifting off the ground, and soaring into the bright blue sky. _We're going to make it,_ Theo thought wildly, feeling his chest swell with hope, clinging to his angel tightly as the ground and the sight of the screaming Devil receded rapidly below them. _We're actually going to make it, we're going to fly _

_right out of here, we're saved!_ Then Aziraphale cried out with pain and

lurched toward the ground; they seemed to float in midair for a moment, but then they plummeted, Aziraphale's injured wing twisting painfully and flapping uselessly against the air, and a moment later, they crashed back into the soft, grassy earth, Theo squashed beneath the angel.

"A HA HA HA HA!" The Devil pointed at them, laughing gleefully, as if this were the funniest thing he had ever seen in the world. "Look at that! LOOK AT THAT! Can't run away, can't fly away, now what are you going to do, stupid hateful angel, huh, NOW WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?!?!"

Aziraphale rolled off of Theo and groaned, struggling back into a standing position, his legs trembling beneath him, his face pale and sweaty, his breath coming in great, painful gasps. "I'm sorry, Theo," he whispered, every inch of his body trembling now, "I'm sorry, but I can't fly like this, I can't get us out of here, you'll have to try to run, I'll hold him off as long as I can, but only if you promise to run as far away from here as--"

"No!" Theo protested again, pulling himself up off the grass and standing up to his full height, glaring at the angel. "You heard him - there's nowhere to run from here but Down! We _have_ to fly away!"

"But I can't fly anymore--"

"Then we'll go together!" Theo suddenly lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's waist. Then he pressed his face against the angel's chest and took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut, steeling himself for what was about to happen--

The pain was greater than he had imagined. Theo bit his lower lip and forced himself to swallow a scream as a pair of large, powerful white wings burst from his back and ripped straight through his two layers of shirts, unfurling themselves toward the sky. Strange new bones and muscles stretched and creaked where Theo had never felt himself to have bones or muscles before; new nerves tingled with sensation and his new feathers glimmered, slightly damp, beneath the light of the hot, bright sun in the sky overhead. His feathers seemed to dry themselves almost an instant later.

The Devil's laughter stopped, abruptly.

"Theo," breathed Aziraphale softly, "when did you get those?"

"In the woods, I think," answered Theo, giving his new wings an experimental flap. The rustle of his feathers stirred a mild breeze into being. "I dunno. All of a sudden, I just knew that they were there."

The Devil was shaking his head, though. "No," he said, more to himself than to the pair of angels. "No, you can't do that..." He stepped forward, toward them. "I won't... I won't let you..."

"If I help you," Theo was asking Aziraphale frantically, "can we both get high enough up to, you know--?"

"I think so," Aziraphale said, gazing at the sky up above him. "Really, though, it's the only choice that we have left, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Theo nodded, grinning. "Yeah."

Clinging tightly to each other, the angels flapped their wings and launched themselves into the air.

The Devil roared a wordless cry of rage and lunged forward, stretching his good arm toward the sky. But he was too late; his claws snatched at the empty space where Theo's foot had been only a moment ago.

Theo grunted with the effort of lifting Aziraphale airborne; the other angel was heavy, and his own wings were dangerously wobbly, and he wasn't quite sure that he was doing the whole flapping thing right. They both rose into the air, Aziraphale working furiously with his good wing, but Theo was still supporting the bulk of Aziraphale's weight. Theo managed to gasp, "Urgh, you really are getting heavy," before they suddenly swooped dangerously close down to the ground again. Theo's stomach felt as though it had lurched up into his throat, but with an enormous sweep of Aziraphale's wings they were airborne again. The Devil roared again, lunging and missing a second time. The two of them climbed higher and higher into the sky, Theo could hear Aziraphale's labored breathing in his ear, and he was going to make some witty crack about Aziraphale needing to lay off the cheesecake and chocolates, but he couldn't find his own breath anymore, he was too busy concentrating on sweeping his awkward new wings through the air and propelling them both higher, ever higher.

They soared into the infinite blue sky.

And, before Theo realized what was happening, the sky had vanished, and he found himself surrounded by cold, dark bedrock. For a terrifying moment, his heart froze in his chest, and he thought that he had been buried alive, embedded forever within the solid bowels of the Earth. But then he felt himself continuing to rise, and he realized that, even in the midst of all this rock, he was still flapping his wings and propelling himself upward, pulling Aziraphale along while the other angel helped as much as he could, the two of them sliding effortlessly through the rock as if it were nothing more substantial than air itself.

After what seemed like an eternity of flying through dark rock, Theo and Aziraphale suddenly burst through a layer of frozen soil and a blanket of snow, and soared straight up into a bright, crisp, bitingly cold day. Almost as soon as his feet had cleared the ground, Theo let go of his angel and collapsed back into the snow, exhausted, his wings disappearing into his back. The moment his back hit the snowy ground, however, Theo realized what a stupid idea that had been. He began shivering instantly. He was only wearing two thin shirts, and the back of both of his shirts had been shredded and torn open by the eruption of his wings. The snow pressed against patches of his exposed skin, soaking through the rest of what remained of his shirts instantly.

"Oh, bother," sighed Aziraphale, standing in the snow beside Theo and looking down at him, as his wings, too shrank back into his flesh. "You left your coat behind down there, didn't you?"

"It w-w-was th-the l-l-least of m-my w-w-worries," Theo said through chattering teeth.

"Here you go, then," Aziraphale said brightly, dropping a short equation down into Theo's chest.

Theo instantly felt comfortably warm and relaxed, and he could sense that his shirts were now perfectly dry as well, even as he continued to lay on his back in the wet snow. The blistering burns on his hands and cheeks had vanished, too. "Ah," Theo sighed happily, "thank you."

"No. Thank you," Aziraphale said somberly. He sat down heavily in the snow beside Theo, crossing his legs. Theo turned his head and noticed that although the angel was bare-chested, he gave not the slightest indication that he felt any chill; and although he was sitting with his trousers sunk deep into a layer of thick, wet snow, whatever remained of his clothing - his trousers, his socks, his shoes - seemed to remain as dry as a bone. He was looking down at Theo again, although this time from considerably less of a height. "You saved us both. Really."

Theo turned his eyes away from the angel, and gazed up at the sky above - not a bright blue anymore, but a dull, strangely comforting slate gray. "But you shouldn't have done that, you know."

"Done what?"

"Offered... you know."

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Theo, I had no other choice. I didn't stand a chance in a fight against the Adversary, and I knew that I could never have outrun him even if I did manage to snatch you back from him. I had no choice but to make a bargain. I told you, angels keep their promises. And I promised you that I wouldn't let you down again. Remember? I promised you that I wouldn't let you get hurt."

Theo was silent, blinking up at the sky and taking his time to digest the angel's words. He had never seen a gray sky that had looked so beautiful in his entire life. "But we did," Theo finally pointed out, obtusely. "We did fight with the Devil, and then we outran him and we escaped."

"Yes, well," Aziraphale said brightly, "I never would have predicted that outcome, myself. Quite a pleasant surprise in the end, don't you think?"

Theo gazed up at the gray sky again, grinning. "Hey," he finally said. "Wanna see something cool?"

"All right," Aziraphale said.

Feeling his grin grow wider, Theo flapped his arms in the snow and pulled his legs back and forth, back and forth. "See?" he said, when he caught a glimpse of Aziraphale staring down at him, looking slightly bewildered. "It's a snow angel!"

* * *

Continued. 


	17. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended up somehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!

* * *

Ordinary Miracles

by Nenena

* * *

Chapter 16

Driessen, Alfred and Suarez, Antoine, eds. 1997. Mathematical Undecidability, Quantum Nonlocality, and the Question of the Existence of God. Kluwer Academic Publishers, Boston. QC6.M357

* * *

Sometime later, the two angels left their snowy field and wandered back into the nearby woods. Theo was bewildered and had no idea where they were, but Aziraphale, strangely, seemed to know exactly where he wanted to be going. As they passed beneath the leafless trees weighted down with thick layers of snow on their branches, Theo gave a shiver, and realized that the rips in his shirt had been mended, and that he seemed to be wearing a coat again. He glanced back at Aziraphale and saw that he was once again wearing his long coat and scarf and cap. Aziraphale shook his head and whispered to Theo, "Don't tell Crowley. As far as he's concerned, I never take shortcuts like this."

"Not a problem," Theo said as he gratefully pulled his coat closer around him, shivering in the cold afternoon air.

Soon they heard a pair of voices arguing, and emerged into the gravely clearing where the Bentley was still parked, with a pair of demons standing beside it, arguing heatedly.

Crowley was leaning in a familiar, sleazy, slightly sinister way against the driver's-side door, once again dressed in the same black jeans and black leather jacket which he had been wearing when Theo had first met him. There was a pair of shades resting on his nose, and his pale, gaunt cheekbones were ever so slightly flushed with anger as he gesticulated wildly, almost yelling at Pauline. Theo was not surprised to see that even Crowley's hair seemed to have grown back in, past where he had cut it such a short time ago. Pauline, for her part, looked exactly as she always did, her eyes flashing with rage and her lips pursed tight as she stood, stiffly, listening impatiently to Crowley, and occasionally interjecting with her own cold hiss of a voice.

"I don't care what the other idiots in the legal department will say or not say about you," Crowley was saying, stabbing an angry finger in Pauline's face, "but you made a deal with the idiot boy, and you're obligated to honor that contract--"

"This is a matter outside of our formal contract," Pauline spat at him. The gold rims of her glasses flashed and glimmered in the reflected light of the setting sun, as if strangely punctuating her angry words. "You don't understand a thing, YOU don't work DOWN there every day, my reputation is at stake-- Even though we DID make a contract with him, there was nothing in there about providing assistance in situations external to, or not derived from, the immediate concern of the destruction of his illegal miracle--"

"Fine! Then you can just stay here then, or WALK back to London for all I care! _I'm_ going to go look for them!"

"Look for who?" Aziraphale asked pleasantly, as he and Theo stepped onto the gravel.

The demons both whirled to stare at them at once. "Where have you BEEN?" Crowley immediately demanded, furious. "Did you think it would be funny to just DISSAPPEAR and leave us waiting around in the freezing cold--?!"

"We had to deal with a minor crisis," Aziraphale said smoothly. He fixed his calm, cold gaze on Pauline and continued, "Your boss apparently felt that he was perfectly entitled to breach the terms of the contract he had made with Theo and me."

"What?" Pauline asked, quietly, raising one eyebrow.

"I thought," Aziraphale said tersely, "that the terms of our deal were such that if we succeeded in destroying the miracle before the set deadline, then Theo was to go free and remain unharmed. Your boss, however, thought otherwise."

The expression on Pauline's face was unreadable. "So he reneged on the deal, then, did he?"

"Exactly."

Pauline clenched one fist at her side. "Well," she said. For a moment, she almost seemed to tremble with anger. "Well," she said again, obviously struggling to control her nerves, "That is infuriating, isn't it? And against his own rules, too." Her voice almost seemed to choke on her own forced calmness. "When I return, I can assure you that I will have a word with him about that. Yes, a word. Just a word."

"You sure you want to do that?" Crowley asked, tossing his car keys casually up and down into the air. Unlike everyone else gathered around the car, he was the only one who didn't seem to be angry about anything anymore. "I dunno, Pauline, you know that nobody ever has much luck confronting _him_ about anything like that."

"Maybe cowardly demons don't," Pauline snapped. Crowley immediately caught his car keys and held them still; his expression darkened dangerously. Pauline didn't seem to notice, or to care. "The only problem with the Boss is that he smells fear and he won't listen to you if he knows that you're afraid. But I'm not afraid of him. Never have been, and never will be. And I WON'T stand for it if he thinks that he can get away with pulling such terrible, reckless stunts like this, throwing all of our rules and laws to the wind, and ruining the reputations of honest demons everywhere!"

Theo was far past the point where he would have wondered (probably out loud) if "honest demon" was an oxymoron. Instead, he said wearily, "I'm tired. Can we just go home now?"

Crowley glanced over at Pauline. "Shall we?"

"You three can go back to the city," Pauline said, tersely. "I'm going to take myself straight back Down There, right away." She gave him a curt nod. "Crowley, it's been a pleasure." She turned toward Aziraphale and Theo. "Angels," she said, perhaps a bit less coldly than usual, "thank you for your help." She turned away from them, and walked away from the car. Her feet began sinking into the gravel, as if she were walking down an invisible flight of stairs hidden just below the ground. "Just so that you know, angels, we've decided to drop the lawsuit," she called over her shoulder. A few steps later, the top of her curly-blonde head was swallowed by the gravel, and she was gone.

Crowley had already pulled open the door of his car and had slid into the driver's seat. "Let's go," he said impatiently, beckoning toward the angels. "I've had enough of this place. Let's get out of here."

Aziraphale slid into the passenger seat, Theo climbed into the back, and Crowley twisted his keys in the ignition. As the engine of the Bentley roared back to life, Freddie Mercury's voice, accompanied by a melodramatic crescendo of guitars, burst forth from the car's speakers.

"_'Cause we are the champions, my friends_,' " Queen sang from somewhere within the Blaupunkt.

Crowley actually slammed his head against the steering wheel. "Dammit. Dammit. Dammit."

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale said, sympathetically.

Theo shrank back into his seat, feeling embarrassed and guilty. Everything really had gone back to the way that it had been before the miracle touched it, it seemed.

* * *

They drove back to London in silence. Crowley refused to play any cassettes. There was very little conversation between any of them, and what little conversation there was seemed altogether too short, curt, and to-the-point. At one point, Crowley asked Aziraphale what had happened to the Colt, whereupon Aziraphale had shrugged (guiltily) and mumbled something about "misplacing" it. Crowley gleefully pointed out that it was a terrible thing for Aziraphale to steal one of Jefferson's guns and then not be able to return it when he was finished. Aziraphale had flushed but said nothing, apparently holding his tongue. Then there had been silence. As night deepened around them, Theo found himself dozing in the back seat.

He found himself being groggily woken up when the Bentley pulled up in front of the bookshop in Soho, and Aziraphale was gently pulling him out of the back seat. "Out we get, then," the angel said cheerfully, as Theo stumbled out of the car, leaning heavily against Aziraphale's arms.

"I'm stopping by tomorrow," Theo heard Crowley saying. "If you hear anything from Upstairs before then, you let me know right away, okay?"

"If my lines are being monitored, I'm not going to call you," Aziraphale stated quite calmly. "And there's a very good chance that from now on, they will be."

"Well, do whatever. Just don't lose your job without at least telling me." The Bentley's engine roared angrily as Crowley drove away.

The two angels were left standing on the curb in front of the bookshop. Theo rubbed his eyes sleepily. "Is it over?" he yawned.

"No," said Aziraphale, as he pulled Theo to the door, "No, it's not over yet. Now that things have gone back to normal Down There, I'm certain that at least one demon must have filed a complaint against Heaven about this, by now. They're allowed to do that, you know. And the miracle that you created was highly illegal. It's only a matter of time before Nathanael hears about all of this."

He unlocked the door, they entered the shop, Aziraphale hung up his coat, and then he glanced over at the wilting house plants lining the front window, and sighed. "Poor things, they've been without attention for days." He puttered over to the plants and began talking to them softly. "There, there now. It's all right. It'll be all right. I'm back now. Yes, yes. I know."

Theo stood watching him, too numb to even take off his coat. He was sleepy and exhausted and emotionally drained, and now his knees were beginning to feel weak beneath him. It still wasn't over? He still had to face the prospect of being told that he wasn't actually cut out to be an angel?!

It wasn't fair, Theo thought, feeling his throat tighten unpleasantly. He'd have to tell them that, yes, as soon as the phone call from Above came, he would have to tell them everything, but he'd make a defense for himself, oh yes, he could still make a defense. Sure, the miracle was his fault, but he'd helped see that it had been properly destroyed, hadn't he?! He'd taken responsibilities for his actions. AND he had done good deeds, performed at least one (albeit unconventional) miracle, and earned his wings in the process. They had to let him stay on as an angel now, didn't they?! After all, he had his wings, right?!

Wrong. Theo knew that such thoughts were dangerously, terribly wrong. Heaven didn't care who had wings or who didn't. They were probably going to kick out Aziraphale for this, too. And Aziraphale had been holding down his job for thousands of years already.

"Hey, um..." Theo swallowed nervously. "Hey, um, Aziraphale. What'll happen to you if you, er, lose your job?"

Aziraphale turned away from the plants and began groping around the bookshop, looking for his own dusty plant mister. "Well, 'lose my job' could mean several things," he said conversationally as he rummaged around piles of stacked books and accumulated antique junk, kicking up clouds of dust as he did so. "I could be removed from my post in the field, and re-assigned to a different job," he said. "I'll most certainly be demoted to a lower rank. And, in the worst case scenario, if the jury Upstairs judges my crime in this instance to be severe enough to warrant their strictest punishment, then... I'll lose my wings. They'll cut mine off, and I'll be cast out of Heaven."

"What do you mean, cast out?" Theo asked sharply. "Where would you go?!"

Aziraphale paused, and his shoulders seemed to slump a little. Then he answered, slowly and sadly. "Oh, Theo. There's only one place where a Fallen angel can go. You know that."

"So - so - " Theo's lower lip trembled dangerously. "So, then, everything that we went through today will have all been in vain?! You'll just Fall anyway and that'll be the end of it?!"

"I never said that I was going to Fall for certain," Aziraphale said, as he finally found the plant mister and headed toward the back room, assumedly to fill it up with water from the sink. "Falling is just one possibility. And we do - both of us - we do have mitigating circumstances on our side."

The angel had taken three steps in the direction of the back room, when the coat rack beside Theo suddenly burst into flame.

"AZIRAPHALE!!" the burning coat rack roared. Aziraphale's camel-hair coat, still hanging on it, was enveloped in blue and white flames.

Aziraphale dropped his plant mister and whirled around quickly, reaching out one arm to yank a terrified, petrified Theo away from the flames. "Uh, er, hello," he said. "Er, Metatron, again, is it?"

"NO, THIS IS MALACHIEL! WHO ELSE WOULD IT BE?! IS YOUR APPRENTICE WITH YOU?!"

"Right here," Theo squeaked.

"Ah. Good." The voice of the burning coat rack reduced itself to a normal volume. "Well, well now. Aziraphale. How have you been?"

"Uh..." Aziraphale seemed taken aback by the question. Something was not right. He had not imagined that when Heaven finally came calling, their conversation would start off like this. "Uh, fine?" he tried, hesitantly.

"Better than fine, I should hope!" the coat rack boomed cheerfully. "Tell us, please, we're all DYING of curiosity up here. How HAVE you been doing it?!"

"Doing... doing what?"

"Why, Saving all of those poor, misbegotten souls!" the coat rack exclaimed. "Yesterday we recorded over one hundred of human souls being Saved in your immediate geographic area. At this rate, we've outclassed the Infernal work in the area by nearly four hundred percent already!"

Theo turned slowly toward Aziraphale, disbelieving. "Over one hundred?" he mouthed silently.

Aziraphale flushed a deep, deep shade of crimson. "I'mnotlimitedbyhumanstamina," he muttered quickly under his breath, hoping that the coat rack wouldn't hear. Theo still stared at him warily, not entirely satisfied with this explanation.

"So," the coat rack continued, all friendly-like, "Do tell us, then. What is your secret? How have you been doing it?"

"Well," Aziraphale gulped nervously, "Er, it's just like you said. That is my little secret, you understand. A secret."

"Oh, surely you can tell us."

"Er, I've just been, ah... spreading the Holy Ghost?"

"Of course, of course, we know that already. But HOW have you been doing it?"

"Really," said Aziraphale faintly, "can that please be my little secret for now?"

"Oh, all right," said the coat rack, as if it were indulging a particularly cute child in a small, harmless transgression. "You can keep your secret for now. But whatever it is - whatever you've been doing to these humans, Aziraphale - whatever it is, you keep it up, you hear?"

"Um... sure."

"Oh, and congratulations," the coat rack said, "to your apprentice. We heard that he'd earned his wings already. Is that true, boy?"

"Uh, yeah. It's true," Theo said nervously. "I, uh, yeah, I got my wings." _Just please don't ask me HOW I got them!_ Theo pleaded silently. He was fairly certain that Heaven wouldn't be too pleased to hear that he had earned his wings while doing a good deed for the Devil himself.

"That's wonderful, really, quite wonderful," the coat rack said, apparently deciding not to press Theo the way that it had Aziraphale. "Well, Aziraphale," it continued, addressing the older angel again, "You really seem to be on a roll now. You may keep your apprentice until the end of your month together, and continue to teach and train him as you see fit. I must comment, however, that you two - both of you - have already more than proven yourselves in our eyes." And then, the coat rack added, in a much lower, softer voice, "None of us can wait to see the look on Nathanael's face when he hears about this, either."

There was a bright flare of light, and then the flames vanished. The coat rack stood still and cool, hardly singed at all, and on it still hung Aziraphale's coat, looking as clean and new and unburnt as it ever did. Which is to say, not all that clean.

Theo shot Aziraphale a curious look.

Anticipating the question that Theo was about to ask, Aziraphale answered quickly, "No, Nathanael isn't very popular among other angels. Even by angelic standards, he's somewhat more of an arrogant prick than most."

* * *

Crowley dropped by early in the morning the next day, with news from Below.

"Nobody dares file a complaint against Heaven about any of this," he reported, unusually cheerful, as he helped himself to Aziraphale's liquor cabinet in the back room. "Pauline called to confirm it with me this morning, but I had already gotten dozens of memos from just about every department Down There, all filled with dire, dire warnings against anyone who would dare speak out against the hush-up."

"Hush-up?" Aziraphale asked, incredulous.

Theo was staring at them both. "You mean... We're going to get away with this?! Heaven won't ever know?"

"Yes, see," Crowley said slowly, as if explaining it all to a particularly dense child (which he believed that he was), "the only way that Heaven could know about what had happened with your illegal miracle, would be if somebody from our side informed them. It's not like they have any eyes or ears of their own Down There. But nobody from our side is going to inform them."

"Why not?" Theo demanded. He still didn't believe it - it sounded too good to be true.

"Because everybody's so perfectly embarrassed about it all!" Crowley drained a bottle of beer in one gulp, and continued. "What demon in his or her right mind would dare to admit to a bunch of snotty angels that one of their miracles, produced by one of their least experienced and youngest agents, was able to gain entry into the Five Hundredth and Twenty-Ninth Circle and from there proceed to conquer the entire damned kingdom? No pun intended. One lousy little miracle lays waste to five hundred and twenty nine circles of Hell, destroys every demon that it comes into contact with, and even succeeds in turning Lucifer himself into an inane, helpless fool. And then, to top it all off, a pair of idiot angels had to be called in to save the day, and save all of Hell as well. Okay, so, tell me, Theo. Do you think that anybody Down There is at all particularly keen to start telling Heaven about this? If there's one thing that demons really, really hate, it's having to admit defeat. Second only to having to admit that they all might be in debt to a pair of idiot angels. Which, as long as nothing is put down on paper about this, they won't be."

"Okay," Theo said, staring at the bottle of cola that Aziraphale had produced for him, still unwilling to jinx himself by taking a celebratory swig, "Fine. I'll believe that much. But wouldn't Heaven still find out about what the miracle did while it was on Earth?"

"Probably not," said Aziraphale. "Heaven's eyes and ears aren't everywhere down here either; in fact, Theo, you and I are probably the only halfway divine witnesses to anything that the miracle did while it was on this plane of existence. And until the end of time, that it all going to remain our little secret." He steepled his fingers together, slowly, meaningfully. "Understand?"

"Our little secret," Theo repeated, allowing himself to finally take a sip of his cola. "Right. Gotcha." He struggled to remain outwardly calm, although he felt like jumping up and down and screaming with joy. _WE ARE SO FREAKIN' TOTALLY GETTING AWAY WITH IT!!!_ his brain screamed at him.

Theo bit his lower lip, though, and refused to jump up or shout, forcing himself to swallow his excitement. No way he was going to act like an idiot in front of Crowley.

Crowley, however, was ignoring Theo for the moment. "How's your wing?" he asked Aziraphale.

"Mmm." Aziraphale frowned. "Not good at all, I'm afraid."

"Can I see it?"

"Not in here. There's not enough room."

"Maybe you should go see an avian veterinarian? Or an ornithologist."

"That's not funny."

"Fine. If you can't afford that, I'm sure that a general veterinary practitioner will do."

"Crowley..."

"Well, it's either that, or let me take a look at it."

"I said, there's not enough room in here for me to pull a wing out."

"Then," said Crowley, grinning mischievously, "we'll have to go up to where there_ is_ enough room."

* * *

That meant the roof.

The three of them sat on the roof, Theo shivering in the cold morning air, but neither Aziraphale nor Crowley showing any signs that they were uncomfortable. Aziraphale had taken off his shirt and was bare-chested, his wings spread out over the building, the alley, and the street below. Theo thought that, up close and in the flesh, Aziraphale shirtless was looking far too pale, pudgy, and soft for Theo's taste. Crowley was crouching behind the angel, frowning as he examined Aziraphale's injured wing.

"Is it bad?" Aziraphale asked nervously.

"I don't understand how you can be clumsy enough to do this to yourself," Crowley grumbled.

"Ouch - don't poke it!"

"I have to poke it, how else can I tell if it's broken or not?!... Oh, er, it's broken. I think."

"What do you mean, you think?"

"Well... I'm not a doctor... But it looks pretty busted-up to me."

"I could have told you as much."

The streets below were crowded and bustling, but Theo knew that not a single soul down there would be able to see them, even if one of them did happen to glance up at the roof of a single nondescript two-story building in the middle of the block. Still, Theo felt somewhat uncomfortable, sitting up on the cold roof and being buffeted by the winter wind howling through the city. He felt somehow vulnerable, exposed.

"Hey, kid," Crowley was saying, gesturing impatiently for Theo to come around behind Aziraphale and join him. "You wanna learn a quick and dirty first-aid lesson?"

"What, you're actually going to try to fix it?" Theo asked incredulously, as he ducked beneath Aziraphale's good wing and joined Crowley at the angel's back. "Do you know how?"

"Good question," Aziraphale said, turning his head to shoot Crowley a hard, flat look.

"It's all bent wrong here, see," Crowley explained to Theo, wiggling the bent part of the wing, as Theo heard Aziraphale hiss out his breath slowly, obviously in pain. "And see this silver stuff sticking

out here? That's bone. Definitely snapped this metacarpal, but not cleanly in two. We'll have to set and splint it."

"Oh, no," said Aziraphale quickly, "No splints. I won't be able to pull them back in again if you do that!"

"What, you'd prefer it to heal itself all bent and useless like that?"

"No..."

"Then you'd better get used to having your wings out for a while."

"That's not fair. You know what a handicap that will be for me."

"I know," said Crowley, grinning. "It means that I get to have more fun than usual, from now on."

"Wait, wait, wait," Theo said quickly. He suddenly recalled a memory of Aziraphale touching his tired, sore legs and restoring them to health instantly, even after a full day of almost ceaseless walking. "Can't you just, er, miracle that wing back to normal?"

"Really," Crowley muttered darkly, although he was addressing Aziraphale, "Haven't you taught that boy anything?!"

Aziraphale ignored this comment - he was quite good at ignoring Crowley, Theo was beginning to realize - and turned his clear blue eyes back toward Theo. "My wings are part of my real body," he explained, "So, no, I can't perform miracles to heal my real body. Our ability to perform miracles can only affect the reality of this four-dimensional world; but my real body is thirteen-dimensional in and of itself."

"My wings, too? Are like that? Er, real?"

"Oh, yes. More real that anyone or anything on this planet."

"Which is all, of course, very deep," Crowley snapped, impatiently, "but would you please hold still, Aziraphale, while I try to set this part?!"

When they were finished treating Aziraphale's wing, Theo pointed out, somewhat embarrassed to be the bearer of bad news, that there was no way for Aziraphale to re-enter the bookshop as long as his wings were still out. He could neither fit through the door nor through any of the windows. Nor, Aziraphale admitted, chagrined, could he pull the convenient little trick of allowing himself to pass through solid barriers, not as long as one of his wings was injured so badly.

"I'm stuck up here," Aziraphale moaned, sounding miserable. "No flying anywhere, no falling anywhere, no walking anywhere. Not until this blasted wing heals."

"Relax, will you?" Crowley soothed, as he finished bandaging the last of the splint. "It'll knit itself up exponentially faster than a human bone could. Three, maybe four days at the most. You've been through worse. And I'll try not to do anything _too_ evil around here as long as you're still laid up," he said in a tone of voice that betrayed just how untrue that was, and the fact that he was obviously enjoying watching the angel's reaction to everything that he said.

"I'll, uh, I'll bring up some books for you," said Theo, trying to be helpful. "And a warm blanket, and some cookies."

Aziraphale seemed to brighten up at the prospect of cookies.

* * *

Aziraphale ended up curling up with a book and camping out on the rooftop for the next three days, while he sent Theo out to run his errands around town and to keep and eye on Crowley. Theo was doing considerably better with his miracles than he had been before; at least, this time around, he didn't accidentally give anybody duck's feet.

In the middle of the afternoon on the third day, Paul Edwards stepped out of the front door of his shop, glanced up at the roof of the building next door, and called out cheerfully, "Hey, up there!"

Aziraphale glanced up from his book, and then down, over the edge of the roof, startled. "You can see me?!" he shouted in reply.

Edwards shaded his eyes and squinted up at him. "Why wouldn't I? Er, what happened to your wing?"

Aziraphale glanced quickly up and down the busy street. No good; people on the sidewalks and driving down the road were starting to stare at Edwards, as if wondering who or what he was shouting at. "We can't continue a conversation like this," Aziraphale muttered under his breath. A moment later, every single pair of eyes within sight of the bookshop suddenly, conveniently, found a compelling reason to turn away and look in the opposite direction; at the same instant, there was a faint popping sound, barely audible above the noise of the busy, crowded street, as Edwards suddenly vanished from where he was standing on his front stoop, and reappeared with a similar pop sitting on the roof right next to Aziraphale.

"Wow," Edwards said, pulling his coat closer around himself and shivering, "It's freezing up here. How can you just sit there without a shirt on?"

Aziraphale was momentarily taken aback by the question. Here was a guy who apparently had no problem accepting the fact that his neighbor had a pair of wings, or that he had just vanished and in an instant been transported to a location several stories higher than where he had been a moment before; yet he still wondered why and how Aziraphale could sit outside, in the cold, without a shirt, and still be comfortable. "Well, I am an angel," Aziraphale said, as if that explained everything.

"Oh, I know that."

"Er... How exactly do you know that?"

"Well, you told John and I, remember?"

"Yes, but, most humans, er, they don't, normally, that is, they don't... They don't tend to believe me when I do tell them... And I'm not supposed to tell them, normally, anyway."

"Yeah, you know, you're right, I bet that most humans wouldn't believe you. But then again, most humans probably haven't felt your divine member being rammed up their--"

Aziraphale coughed, loudly. Edwards thankfully got the hint, and smoothly switched over to a different subject. "Actually, I was quite embarrassed to realize this morning that I never got around to properly thanking you for taking care of Margie for me."

"Margie? How is Margie?"

"Well, she's a cat again, for starters. And she's back to being a she."

"Oh. Thank goodness."

"And she doesn't seem to have any memory that she was ever anything different."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"And... Well, there's some news that you might or might not want to hear."

"What, er, kind of news?"

"Regarding the work that you did with Bill." Edwards was smiling at him with a sort of infectious good cheer. "He compiled some digital video files of your footage and uploaded them to the website of one of the companies that he freelances for. They've already made a fortune off your videos; they've become their biggest-selling downloads ever, practically overnight. Of course, half of those download requests came from pirates, as usual, and they're already copying and reposting your videos all over their own websites. You might want to know that I did some checking around this morning, and you're all over the internet. I mean, really, all over. You've just become a smashing success."

"Oh," said Aziraphale. He wasn't sure quite what else to say.

"And, I mean, the footage is just amazing - even the still shots are amazing," Edwards continued, enthusiastically. This was apparently a subject very near and dear to his heart. "I watched a bit of your scene with the twins, and it was just, wow, incredible! And you actually deep-throated Big Ben! Just, wow, you know, wow, Big Ben! His cock is practically an extra appendage down there, what was it, like, thirteen, fourteen inches?"

Aziraphale waved his hand vaguely. "Oh, it's not as if I measured or anything, but it felt to be much longer than twelve inches, at least. But it was also prosthetically enhanced, so--"

"But you swallowed all of it! How did you do that?!"

Aziraphale blushed. "It helps that I don't have to breathe... It means that I also have no gag reflex." _I am so very, very glad that Theo is out running errands and not around to hear this,_ he thought, silently but fervently thanking God as he did so.

"Anyway, lots of people have been asking around... When do you think you'll be available to do some more work again?"

Aziraphale fluttered his wings, once, and then looked Edwards squarely in the eye. "Never," he answered. "I've decided to retire from the business."

Edwards shrugged. "That's fine. That's your decision. Lots of people are going to be disappointed to hear it, though."

"Are you? Disappointed, that is."

"No," Edwards answered honestly, and Aziraphale was suddenly immensely pleased (and secretly relieved) to hear it. "Somehow... And this is going to sound kind of weird, I know, especially after everything that happened that day, and after how I was the one that sort of dragged you into it in the first place... But somehow, I dunno, I just don't think that it suits you. You're just not that type of person."

"I'm not a person at all. Not technically."

"Well, there's that too." Edwards laughed. Then his expression turned serious, and he asked, in a low tone of voice, "Listen, you aren't... I mean, you're an angel and all, but you're not going to, er, get in trouble for... you know... are you?"

"I might have," said Aziraphale, "but Heaven will never actually know

about any of it." He shrugged his shoulders, and his wings lifted up and down, rustling softly.

"And you don't regret... What happened between us?"

"No," Aziraphale answered, unable to suppress a smile anymore, "No, not at all. It was lovely."

"And we're still friends now, right? But just friends."

"If you'd like... Er..."

"Oh, I see." Edwards seemed to brighten up suddenly. "Perhaps we could try being friends with benefits?"

Aziraphale smiled, and his whole face seemed to light up with joy. "Hmm. Yes. That sounds like a wonderful suggestion."

* * *

On the last day of his month of apprenticeship, Theo went out to lunch with Aziraphale and Crowley one last time. They took him to the Ritz. Theo thought that through most of the meal, Crowley was behaving himself remarkably well, and actually managing to act civil, mostly. That was, until he lifted his shades off his face and tipped the angels a quick wink at the exact same moment that a woman three tables over stood up, flung her bowl of salad at the head of the man that she was dining with, then threw a glass of water at him, plucked a ring off her finger and threw it down on the table, screamed an obscenity, and then stalked away furiously.

The whole restaurant fell silent.

Crowley calmly took a bite of his steak, chewed thoughtfully, and then said, "She was thinking of doing it anyway. She probably would have done it anyway. I just wanted to make sure that it happened before the lunch crowd left the place."

"Well." Aziraphale nibbled at his apple turnover as conversation began to resume at the tables around them. "That was still uncalled for. I thought we'd agreed on refraining from, er, official business, during social occasions."

"It wasn't a consensual agreement. I was drunk. And it was five hundred years ago. And you never got it down in writing. That wasn't very good foresight on your part, was it?"

Theo ignored them both, and munched contentedly on his salad.

"Can we at least agree to it now?" Aziraphale was asking, still not willing to let the matter drop.

"Hey," Crowley said, starting to sound a bit angry. "I don't feel like I owe you any favors right now. I did fix up your wing all better for you, didn't I? A little gratitude would be nice. If anything, you owe me."

"Crowley, a monkey could have splint that wing better than you did. You're lucky that it healed well and I'm lucky that I can fly again at all. And have you forgotten that Theo and I just saved you from an eternity of eating vegan, saving the whales, and knitting your own scarves and mittens?"

Crowley dropped his fork and gaped at the angel.

"If anything," Aziraphale said, with a small, pleasant little smirk lurking on his face, "You owe me."

"You bastard..."

"You owe Theo, too."

"I do not!" Crowley spluttered, angrily.

Theo lazily twirled the prongs of his fork in the leftover salad dressing greasing his empty plate. "Actually, yeah, I think you do," he

said, matching Aziraphale's casually dangerous tone of voice word for word.

Crowley glared at them both. "What kind of a favor are you two talking about?"

"I want you to mention Theo in your next report to your authorities," Aziraphale said briskly. "I want you to specifically detail what a sickeningly good and frighteningly self-righteous angel he is, and I want you to tell your bosses that he successfully thwarted some of your most brilliant wiles several times over in the past month." Aziraphale dabbed his lips with a napkin. "Theo is going back to Heaven tomorrow, and he could be receiving an assignment back in the field as early as next week. If there are any other demons lurking around his new post, well... I want to make sure that his reputation precedes him."

"Are you saying that you want me to report false intelligence about your apprentice?"

"Oh, it's not all entirely false," Aziraphale said, sipping his glass of wine. "But at least we all know that Theo isn't a total prick. Although it would be nice if you made him sound that way in your report."

* * *

At sunset, Aziraphale took Theo to St. James Park. They sat on a bench together, and watched children playing in the snow and older couples strolling through the park.

Theo stretched his arms over his head and looked apprehensively up at the sky. "I don't know if I want to go back Up There," he finally said. "I don't want to get an assignment out in the field already. I don't think I'm ready."

"Oh, I think you're ready," Aziraphale countered, calmly.

"But there's still so much that I don't know..."

"If you know that, then that's all you need. You're ready."

"Hmm." Theo turned his gaze up toward Aziraphale. "I'm gonna miss you."

"But we might see each other again, someday. Maybe at staff meetings. Those things can sometimes drag on for decades."

"Yeah, but still..."

"We have until tomorrow to put off saying our goodbyes." Aziraphale reached over and squeezed Theo's hand gently. "So let's not think about that just yet, shall we?" Then he gazed out at the frozen duck pond and said, "You know, I'm going to miss you too."

"I know."

Aziraphale's eyes were misting over. "You're going to make a wonderful angel," he said, although he choked on the last word.

"Aw, hey, don't cry..."

Aziraphale sniffled, and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his coat. "Crowley would think I was a ninny if he could see me now," he laughed.

Theo thought that he would probably be crying too, come tomorrow. But he didn't want to think about that just yet. Aziraphale was right - they could still afford to put off their goodbyes. But he still wanted to say something to comfort Aziraphale, nevertheless. So he snuggled himself happily against the angel's warm side and said, "Aw, it's all cool. I learned everything that I know from one of the best in the business."

Aziraphale sighed, almost wearily, at that comment. "Er, ah,

Theo..."

"Yes?"

"That little trick of mine that you've probably figured out by now, the, ah, the--"

"Fuck'n'Save?"

Aziraphale blushed a deep shade of crimson.

"Oh, I just thought of the name, just now," Theo said quickly.

"Anyway," Aziraphale coughed, "I don't want you trying that. At least not until you're eighteen." And then, "And we'd better go home and wash out your mouth with soap right away, young man. Using the F-word in front of another angel, I mean, really. Haven't I taught you better than that?"

"Excuse me," Theo said, hopping off the bench, "But it's not as though I haven't picked up a thing or two from hanging out so much around Crowley, either."

* * *

Almost the End. 


	18. Epilogue

Disclaimer: Aziraphale, Crowley, and Good Omens are created and copyrighted by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is a fanfic, intended only in the spirit of fun. Tons of love and thanks is owed to the amazing and wonderful Daegaer, who provided tons of feedback for the first half of the fic, and then ended up somehow volunteering herself as a beta-reader and a proofreader, and who helped me correct many of my Americanisms with proper British English. And thanks to y'all for reading!

* * *

Ordinary Miracles

by Nenena

* * *

Epilogue

Bolton, Clyde. 1989. And Now I See. Star Books, Wilson, North Carolina. PS3552.O5877 A84

* * *

The seraph Nathanael glanced down at the scrolls in his hands and then back up at Theo again. "Well, Aziraphale certainly has written you a glowing recommendation here. He writes that you have demonstrated on multiple occasions an uncommon aptitude for dealing effectively with demons." Something in the tone of Nathanael's voice sounded as if he himself could not quite believe it.

"We had some run-ins with demons," Theo said carefully. He squinted up at Nathanael, which was a painful thing to do, owing to the excess of bright light that seemed to permeate Heaven. Theo had only been back up for less than a day, but already he couldn't wait to get back down to Earth again. Heaven was too bloody bright, everywhere. The sun never set up here. Theo marveled that he had never noticed it before, but now he wondered if his eyes would ever adjust to Heaven's unbearable brightness ever again.

Living for a month inside Aziraphale's dim, poorly-lit bookshop could do that to a fellow's eyes.

"Hmmm," said Nathanael, "Hmmm. Indeed. Do you really feel that you are ready to go back out into the field?"

"More than ready." Theo flexed his arms as he stood, wings spread, halo glowing, waiting patiently for his first assignment. He felt, oddly, bigger than he had before. Older. But that was to be expected, of course. Not even Heaven would think of keeping him as a thirteen-year-old boy for an eternity, and he had been promised that he would start growing into his enormous wings sooner or later. At the moment, it looked to be sooner rather than later.

"We normally," Nathanael said carefully, "do not assign such young children to such dangerous, difficult postings right away." He frowned down at the scrolls he was holding again. "However, we did receive a second recommendation on your behalf, just a short while ago--"

"A second recommendation?" Theo asked incredulously. He couldn't even begin to guess who, other than Aziraphale, would be in a position to write him a letter of recommendation.

Nathanael sighed. Again, with the interruptions... "Yes, a second letter, that strongly suggested that we post you down in the field right away. And when such a suggestion comes from, you know," Nathanael pointed vaguely upward, "we are not really in a position to refuse now, are we?"

Theo gazed up at the painfully bright Heavenly sky. Who had Nathanael been pointing to? There was nobody higher up in Heaven's rankings than a seraph, and surely--

_Oh,_ Theo suddenly realized. _OH!_

"Rumor has it that a demon is planning to stake out territory in Tromso soon," Nathanael said briskly, jotting some final notes down on the scrolls in a way that made it absolutely clear that he was finishing up his business for the day. "We could use an angel down there as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and Theodore...?"

"Yes, sir?"

"We'll have to do something about that name of yours..."

* * *

Tajo shivered in the cold winter air. He missed the warm subtropical climate from the foothills of the Andes already. And he had only been gone for less than half of a day.

Pulling his thick winter coat tighter around his body, Tajo broke his stride and ducked momentarily beneath a storefront awning, seeking shelter from the wind, watching the amusing mix of tourists and local humans flooding the sidewalk around him.

Demons, as a general rule, despised cold weather. Tajo was no exception. He was still inwardly seething about the new orders he had received yesterday - a transfer to the northern wastelands of Europe, and when he had been doing so well in South America, too! Well, there was that bit about him suddenly deciding to fund a Catholic monastery and build a home for poor orphan children and all the charity work he had for some reason been doing, but... He was fairly certain that he wasn't supposed to be held accountable for that. It wouldn't be fair of Hell to punish him for something that he had done when he wasn't entirely sure that he had been in his right mind.

But then again, fairness had never exactly been one of Hell's defining hallmarks.

Tajo scowled at nothing in particular, at the world around him. He was probably going to have to start calling himself Trigve or something, just to blend in more with the locals. No more chinos or Bermuda shorts or even floppy straw hats up here, either. Tajo was especially upset about the clothing issue. He was currently wearing three layers, and felt as if he were suffocating in his own skin. The weather in Tromso was always wretched this time of year. And the sun only came out for a few measly hours a day, and only gave off a thin, sickly light at best. There was no way that Tajo was going to be able to maintain his tan, not in this city.

Tajo turned around and gauged the window sign of whatever eatery whose awning he had ducked beneath. The menu posted in the window promised whole grains, organic vegan cuisine, and lots of fresh tofu. Tajo's stomach gave a sickening lurch. He suddenly didn't feel particularly hungry, but...

But...

But any sort of gathering place for animal-loving, vegan peaceniks was surely ripe picking grounds for a demon of his sort, wasn't it?

The answer was, absolutely yes. Tajo grinned, caught sight of his reflection in the window, willed his teeth to stop looking so much like fangs, and then he grinned again. Right. He had to at least look like a normal human to approach some of these people. Still grinning, Tajo went inside. He was going to tempt one of these vegan brats into going out for filet mignon, so help him Lucifer. Nothing would have cheered Tajo up more at that moment than the sight of a PETA member chowing down on a pulled-pork sandwich.

Tajo stepped through the doorway, saw a 'please seat yourself' sign, and did just that. He chose a corner table, quiet, secluded, and with a good view of the rest of the restaurant's clientele. He shrugged off his coat and hat, threw them on the back of his chair, and was just about to psyche himself up for some light-duty tempting, when somebody else entered the restaurant and sat down at his same table, right across from him.

"Cheers," the newcomer said, offering Tajo a cold bottle of Coca-Cola that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. He was a young boy, golden-haired, freckle-faced, and surely no more than thirteen or fourteen years old. "Tamael," the boy said by means of an introduction, "But my friends call me Theo." The boy - no, not a boy, but an extraordinarily young angel - uncapped a second bottle for himself, and then poured his soda into a glass that materialized in his hand as he spoke, almost as an afterthought.

The young angel smiled winningly at the demon. "Care to join me for a nip?"

* * *

The End. 


End file.
